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By  Lord  Dunsany 

The  Gods  of  Pegana 
Time  and  the  Gods 
The  Sword  of  Welleran 
A  Dreamer's  Tales 
The  Book  of  Wonder 
Five  Plays 
Fifty-one  Tales 
Tales  of  Wonder 
Plays  of  Gods  and  Men 
Tales  of  War 
Unhappy  Far-ofF  Things 
Tales  of  Three  Hemispheres 
If 


DON  RODRIGUEZ 


.m- 


Don  Rodriguez 

Drawn  by  S    H.  Sime 


DON    RODRIGUEZ 

CHRONICLES   OF  SHADOW  VALLEY 


By 
LORD  DUNSANY 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

TTbe   l^nfcherbocfter   {Press 
1922 


Copyright.  1932 

by 
Edward  Plunkett 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


First  Printing,  October  I022 
Second  Printing,  October  1922 


/*^*^ 


To 
WILLIAM   BEEBE 


PREFACE 

AFTER  long  and  patient  research  I  am  still  un- 
able to  give  to  the  reader  of  these  Chronicles 
the  exact  date  of  the  times  that  they  tell  of. 
Were  it  merely  a  matter  of  history  there  could  be  no 
doubts  about  the  period;  but  where  magic  is  con- 
cerned, to  however  slight  an  extent,  there  must 
always  be  some  element  of  mystery,  arising  partly 
out  of  ignorance  and  partly  from  the  compulsion  of 
those  oaths  by  which  magic  protects  its  precincts 
from  the  tiptoe  of  curiosity. 

Moreover  magic,  even  in  small  quantities,  appears 
to  affect  time,  much  as  acids  affect  some  metals, 
curiously  changing  its  substance,  until  dates  seem  to 
melt  into  a  mercurial  form  that  renders  them  elusive 
even  to  the  eye  of  the  most  watchful  historian. 

It  is  the  magic  appearing  in  Chronicles  III  and 
IV  that  has  gravely  affected  the  date,  so  that  all  I 
can  tell  the  reader  with  certainty  of  the  period  is 
that  it  fell  in  the  later  years  of  the  Golden  Age  in 
Spain. 


CONTENTS 

PAcat 

THE  FIRST  CHRONICLE     ....        3 
How  HE  Met  and  Said  Farewell  to  Mine 
Host  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight 

THE  SECOND  CHRONICLE        ...      29 
How  HE  Hired  a  Memorable  Servant 

THE  THIRD  CHRONICLE    ....      53 
How  HE  Came  to  the  House  of  Wonder 

THE  FOURTH  CHRONICLE        ...      87 
How  HE  Came  to  the  Mountains  of  the 

Sun 

THE  FIFTH  CHRONICLE    .        .        .        .115 
How  HE  Rode  in  the  Twilight  and  Saw 
Serafina 

THE  SIXTH  CHRONICLE    .        .        .        .147 
How  he  Sang  to  his  Mandolin  and  what 
Came  of  his  Singing 

THE  SEVENTH  CHRONICLE      ...     169 
How  he  Came  to  Shadow  Valley 

THE  EIGHTH  CHRONICLE  .        .        .        .197 
How  HE  Travelled  Far 


X  CONTENTS 

FAGB 

THE  NINTH  CHRONICLE    .        .        .        .227 
How  HE  Won  a  Castle  in  Spain 

THE  TENTH  CHRONICLE  .        .        .        .253 
How  HE  Came  back  to  Lowlight 

THE  ELEVENTH  CHRONICLE  .        .        .275 
How  he  Turned  to  Gardening  and  his 
Sword  Rested 

THE  TWELFTH  CHRONICLE    .        .        .303 
The  Building  of  Castle  Rodriguez  and 
THE  Ending  of  These  Chronicles 


DON  RODRIGUEZ 


THE    FIRST    CHRONICLE 


THE  FIRST  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE  MET  AND  SAID  FAREWELL  TO  MINE  HOST  OF 
THE  DRAGON  AND   KNIGHT 

BEING  convinced  that  his  end  was  nearly  come, 
and  having  Hved  long  on  earth  (and  all  those 
years  in  Spain,  in  the  golden  time),  the  Lord 
of  the  Valleys  of  Arguento  Harez,  whose  heights 
see  not  Valladolid,  called  for  his  eldest  son.  And  so 
he  addressed  him  when  he  was  come  to  his  chamber, 
dim  with  its  strange  red  hangings  and  august  with 
the  splendour  of  Spain :  "O  eldest  son  of  mine,  your 
younger  brother  being  dull  and  clever,  on  whom 
those  traits  that  women  love  have  not  been  bestowed 
by  God ;  and  know  my  eldest  son  that  here  on  earth, 
and  for  ought  I  know  Hereafter,  but  certainly  here 
on  earth,  these  women  be  the  arbiters  of  all  things ; 
and  how  this  be  so  God  knoweth  only,  for  they  are 
vain  and  variable,  yet  it  is  surely  so :  your  younger 
brother  then  not  having  been  given  those  ways  that 
women  prize,  and  God  knows  why  they  prize  them 
for  they  are  vain  ways  that  I  have  in  my  mind  and 
that  won  me  the  Valleys  of  Arguento  Harez,  from 

3 


4  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

whose  heights  AngeHco  swore  he  saw  Valladolld 
once,  and  that  won  me  moreover  also  .  .  .  but  that 
is  long  ago  and  is  all  gone  now  ...  ah  well,  well 
.  .  .  what  was  I  saying?"  And  being  reminded  of 
his  discourse,  the  old  lord  continued,  saying,  "For 
himself  he  will  win  nothing,  and  therefore  I  will 
leave  him  these  my  valleys,  for  not  unlikely  it  was 
for  some  sin  of  mine  that  his  spirit  was  visited  with 
dullness,  as  Holy  Writ  sets  forth,  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  being  visited  on  the  children;  and  thus  I 
make  him  amends.  But  to  you  I  leave  my  long, 
most  flexible,  ancient  Castilian  blade,  which  infidels 
dreaded  if  old  songs  be  true.  Merry  and  lithe  it  is, 
and  its  true  temper  singeth  when  it  meets  another 
blade  as  two  friends  sing  when  met  after  many 
years.  It  is  most  subtle,  nimble  and  exultant;  and 
what  it  will  not  win  for  you  in  the  wars,  that  shall 
be  won  for  you  by  your  mandolin,  for  you  have  a 
way  with  it  that  goes  well  with  the  old  airs  of  Spain. 
And  choose,  my  son,  rather  a  moonlight  night  when 
you  sing  imder  those  curved  balconies  that  I  knew, 
ah  me,  so  well;  for  there  is  much  advantage  in  the 
moon.  In  the  first  place  maidens  see  in  the  light 
of  the  moon,  especially  in  the  Spring,  more  romance 
than  you  might  credit,  for  it  adds  for  them  a  mys- 
tery to  the  darkness  which  the  night  has  not  when 
it  is  merely  black.  And  if  any  statue  should  gleam 
on  the  grass  near  by,  or  if  the  magnolia  be  in  blos- 
som, or  even  the  nightingale  singing,  or  if  anything 
be  beautiful  in  the  night,  in  any  of  these  things  also 
there  is  advantage;  for  a  maiden  will  attribute  to 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT  5 

her  lover  all  manner  of  things  that  are  not  his  at 
all,  but  are  only  outpourings  from  the  hand  of  God. 
There  is  this  advantage  also  in  the  moon,  that,  if 
interrupters  come,  the  moonlight  is  better  suited  to 
the  play  of  a  blade  than  the  mere  darkness  of  night; 
indeed  but  the  merry  play  of  my  sword  in  the  moon- 
light was  often  a  joy  to  see,  it  so  flashed,  so  danced, 
so  sparkled.  In  the  moonlight  also  one  makes  no 
unworthy  stroke,  but  hath  scope  for  those  fair  passes 
that  Sevastiani  taught,  which  were  long  ago  the 
wonder  of  Madrid." 

The  old  lord  paused,  and  breathed  for  a  little  space, 
as  it  were  gathering  breath  for  his  last  words  to  his 
son.  He  breathed  deliberately,  then  spoke  again.  "I 
leave  you,"  he  said,  "well  content  that  you  have  the 
two  accomplishments,  my  son,  that  are  most  needful 
in  a  Christian  man,  skill  with  the  sword  and  a  way 
with  the  mandolin.  There  be  other  arts  indeed 
among  the  heathen,  for  the  world  is  wide  and  hath 
full  many  customs,  but  these  two  alone  are  needful." 
And  then  with  that  grand  manner  that  they  had  at 
that  time  in  Spain,  although  his  strength  was  failing, 
he  gave  to  his  eldest  son  his  Castilian  sword.  He 
lay  back  then  in  the  huge,  carved,  canopied  bed ;  his 
eyes  closed,  the  red  silk  curtains  rustled,  and  there 
was  no  sound  of  his  breathing.  But  the  old  lord's 
spirit,  whatever  journey  it  purposed,  lingered  yet  in 
its  ancient  ha])itation,  and  his  voice  came  again,  but 
feebly  now  and  rambling;  he  muttered  awhile  of 
gardens,  such  gardens  no  doubt  as  the  hidalgos 
guarded  in  that   fertile  region  of  sunshine  in  the 


6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

proudest  period  of  Spain;  he  would  have  known  no 
others.  So  for  awhile  his  memory  seemed  to  stray, 
half  blind  among  those  perfumed  earthly  wonders; 
perhaps  among  these  memories  his  spirit  halted,  and 
tarried  those  last  few  moments,  mistaking  those 
Spanish  gardens,  remembered  by  moonlight  in 
Spring,  for  the  other  end  of  his  journey,  the  glades 
of  Paradise.  However  it  be,  it  tarried.  These 
rambling  memories  ceased  and  silence  fell  again, 
with  scarcely  the  sound  of  breathing.  Then  gathering 
up  his  strength  for  the  last  time  and  looking  at  his 
son,  "The  sword  to  the  wars,"  he  said.  "The  mando- 
lin to  the  balconies."  With  that  he  fell  back  dead. 
Now  there  were  no  wars  at  that  time  so  far  as  was 
known  in  Spain,  but  that  old  lord's  eldest  son,  re- 
garding those  last  words  of  his  father  as  a  com- 
mandment, determined  then  and  there  in  that  dim, 
vast  chamber  to  gird  his  legacy  to  him  and  seek  for 
the  wars,  wherever  the  wars  might  be,  so  soon  as  the 
obsequies  of  the  sepulture  were  ended.  And  of  those 
obsequies  I  tell  not  here,  for  they  are  fully  told  in 
the  Black  Books  of  Spain,  and  the  deeds  of  that  old 
lord's  youth  are  told  in  the  Golden  Stories.  The 
Book  of  Maidens  mentions  him,  and  again  we  read 
of  him  in  Gardens  of  Spain.  I  take  my  leave  of 
him,  happy,  I  trust,  in  Paradise,  for  he  had  himself 
the  accomplishments  that  he  held  needful  in  a  Chris- 
tian, skill  with  the  sword  and  a  way  with  the  man- 
dolin; and  if  there  be  some  harder,  better  way  to 
salvation  than  to  follow  that  which  we  believe  to  be 
good,  then  are  we  all  damned.     So  he  was  buried, 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT  7 

and  his  eldest  son  fared  forth  with  his  legacy  dan- 
gling from  his  girdle  in  its  long,  straight,  lovely 
scabbard,  blue  velvet,  with  emeralds  on  it,  fared 
forth  on  foot  along  a  road  of  Spain.  And  though 
the  road  turned  left  and  right  and  sometimes  nearly 
ceased,  as  though  to  let  the  small  wild  flowers  grow, 
out  of  sheer  good  will  such  as  some  roads  never 
have;  though  it  ran  west  and  east  and  sometimes 
south,  yet  in  the  main  it  ran  northward,  though 
wandered  is  a  better  word  than  ran,  and  the  Lord  of 
the  Valleys  of  Arguento  Harez  who  owned  no  val- 
leys, or  anything  but  a  sword,  kept  company  with 
it  looking  for  the  wars.  Upon  his  back  he  had  slung 
his  mandolin.  Now  the  time  of  the  year  was  Spring, 
not  Spring  as  we  know  it  in  England,  for  it  was  but 
early  March,  but  it  was  the  time  when  Spring  com- 
ing up  out  of  Africa,  or  unknown  lands  to  the 
south,  first  touches  Spain,  and  multitudes  of  anem- 
ones come  forth  at  her  feet. 

Thence  she  comes  north  to  our  islands,  no  less 
wonderful  in  our  woods  than  in  Andalusian  valleys, 
fresh  as  a  new  song,  fabulous  as  a  rune,  but  a  little 
pale  through  travel,  so  that  our  flowers  do  not  quite 
flare  forth  with  all  the  myriad  blaze  of  the  flowers 
of  Spain. 

And  all  the  way  as  he  went  the  young  man  looked 
at  the  flame  of  those  southern  flowers,  flashing  on 
either  side  of  him  all  the  way,  as  though  the  rain- 
bow had  been  broken  in  Heaven  and  its  fragments 
fallen  on  Spain.  All  the  way  as  he  went  he  gazed  at 
those  flowers,  the  first  anemones  of  the  year;  and 


8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

long  after,  whenever  he  sang  to  old  airs  of  Spain,  he 
thought  of  Spain  as  it  appeared  that  day  in  all  the 
wonder  of  Spring;  the  memory  lent  a  beauty  to  his 
voice  and  a  wistfulness  to  his  eyes  that  accorded  not 
ill  with  the  theme  of  the  songs  he  sang,  and  were 
more  than  once  to  melt  proud  hearts  deemed  cold. 
And  so  gazing  he  came  to  a  town  that  stood  on  a 
hill,  before  he  was  yet  tired,  though  he  had  done 
nigh  twenty  of  those  flowery  miles  of  Spain;  and 
since  it  was  evening  and  the  light  was  fading  away, 
he  went  to  an  inn  and  drew  his  sword  in  the  twilight 
and  knocked  with  the  hilt  of  it  on  the  oaken  door. 
The  name  of  it  was  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight.  A  light  was  lit  in  one  of  the  upper  win- 
dows, the  darkness  seemed  to  deepen  at  that  moment, 
a  step  was  heard  coming  heavily  down  a  stairway; 
and  having  named  the  inn  to  you,  gentle  reader,  it  is 
time  for  me  to  name  the  young  man  also,  the  land- 
less lord  of  the  Valleys  of  Arguento  Harez,  as  the 
step  comes  slowly  down  the  inner  stairway,  as  the 
gloaming  darkens  over  the  first  house  in  which  he 
has  ever  sought  shelter  so  far  from  his  father's 
valleys,  as  he  stands  upon  the  threshold  of  romance. 
He  was  named  Rodriguez  Trinidad  Fernandez, 
Concepcion  Henrique  Maria;  but  we  shall  briefly 
name  him  Rodriguez  in  this  story ;  you  and  I,  reader, 
will  know  whom  we  mean;  there  is  no  need  there- 
fore to  give  him  his  full  names,  unless  I  do  it  here 
and  there  to  remind  you. 

The  steps  came  thumping  on  down  the  inner  stair- 
way, diflFerent  windows  took  the  light  of  the  candle, 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT  9 

and  none  other  shone  in  the  house ;  it  was  clear  that 
it  was  moving  with  the  steps  all  down  that  echoing 
stairway.  The  sound  of  the  steps  ceased  to  rever- 
berate upon  the  wood,  and  now  they  slowly  moved 
over  stone  flags;  Rodriguez  now  heard  breathing, 
one  breath  with  every  step,  and  at  length  the  sound 
of  bolts  and  chains  undone  and  the  breathing  now 
very  close.  The  door  was  opened  swiftly;  a  man 
with  mean  eyes,  and  expression  devoted  to  evil, 
stood  watching  him  for  an  instant;  then  the  door 
slammed  to  again,  the  bolts  were  heard  going  back 
again  to  their  places,  the  steps  and  the  breathing 
moved  away  over  the  stone  floor,  and  the  inner  stair- 
way began  again  to  echo. 

"U  the  wars  are  here."  said  Rodriguez  to  himself 
and  his  sword,  "good,  and  I  sleep  under  the  stars." 
And  he  listened  in  the  street  for  the  sound  of  war 
and,  hearing  none,  continued  his  discourse.  "But  if 
I  have  not  come  as  yet  to  the  wars  I  sleep  beneath 
a  roof." 

For  the  second  time  therefore  he  drew  his  sword, 
and  began  to  strike  methodically  at  the  door,  noting 
the  grain  in  the  wood  and  hitting  where  it  was  soft- 
est. Scarcely  had  he  got  a  good  strip  of  the  oak  to 
look  like  coming  away,  when  the  steps  once  more 
descended  the  wooden  stair  and  came  lumbering 
over  the  stones;  both  the  steps  and  the  breathing 
were  quicker,  for  mine  host  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight  was  hurrying  to  save  his  door. 

When  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  bolts  and  chains 
again  Rodriguez  ceased  to  beat  upon  the  door :  once 


lo  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

more  it  opened  swiftly,  and  he  saw  mine  host  before 
him,  eyeing  him  with  those  bad  eyes ;  of  too  much 
girth,  you  might  have  said,  to  be  nimble,  yet  some- 
how suggesting  to  the  swift  intuition  of  youth,  as 
Rodriguez  looked  at  him  standing  upon  his  door- 
step, the  spirit  and  shape  of  a  spider,  who  despite 
her  ungainly  build  is  agile  enough  in  her  way. 

Mine  host  said  nothing;  and  Rodriguez,  who 
seldom  concerned  himself  with  the  past,  holding 
that  the  future  is  all  we  can  order  the  scheme  of 
(and  maybe  even  here  he  was  wrong),  made  no 
mention  of  bolts  or  door  and  merely  demanded  a  bed 
for  himself  for  the  night. 

Mine  host  rubbed  his  chin;  he  had  neither  beard 
nor  moustache  but  wore  hideous  whiskers;  he 
rubbed  it  thoughtfully  and  looked  at  Rodriguez. 
Yes,  he  said,  he  could  have  a  bed  for  the  night.  No 
more  words  he  said,  but  turned  and  led  the  way; 
while  Rodriguez,  who  could  sing  to  the  mandolin, 
wasted  none  of  his  words  on  this  discourteous  ob- 
ject. They  ascended  the  short  oak  stairway  down 
which  mine  host  had  come,  the  great  timbers  of 
which  were  gnawed  by  a  myriad  rats,  and  they 
went  by  passages  with  the  light  of  one  candle  into 
the  interior  of  the  inn,  which  went  back  farther 
from  the  street  than  the  young  man  had  supposed ; 
indeed  he  perceived  when  they  came  to  the  great 
corridor  at  the  end  of  which  was  his  appointed 
chamber,  that  here  was  no  ordinary  inn,  as  it  had 
appeared  from  outside,  but  that  it  penetrated  into 
the  fastness  of  some  great  family  of  former  times 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         1 1 

which  had  fallen  on  evil  days.  The  vast  size 
of  it,  the  noble  design  where  the  rats  had  spared 
the  carving,  what  the  moths  had  left  of  the  tapes- 
tries, all  testified  to  that;  and,  as  for  the  evil  days, 
they  hung  about  the  place,  evident  even  by  the  light 
of  one  candle  guttering  with  every  draught  that 
blew  from  the  haunts  of  the  rats,  an  inseparable 
heirloom  for  all  who  disturbed  those  corridors. 

And  so  they  came  to  the  chamber. 

Mine  host  entered,  bowed  without  grace  in  the 
doorway,  and  extended  his  left  hand,  pointing  into 
the  room.  The  draughts  that  blew  from  the  rat-holes 
in  the  wainscot,  or  the  mere  action  of  entering,  beat 
down  the  flame  of  the  squat,  guttering  candle  so 
that  the  chamber  remained  dim  for  a  moment,  in 
spite  of  the  candle,  as  would  naturally  be  the  case. 
Yet  the  impression  made  upon  Rodriguez  was  as  of 
some  old  darkness  that  had  been  long  undisturbed 
and  that  yielded  reluctantly  to  that  candle's  intru- 
sion, a  darkness  that  properly  became  the  place  and 
was  a  part  of  it  and  had  long  been  so,  in  the  face 
of  which  the  candle  appeared  an  ephemeral  thing 
devoid  of  grace  or  dignity  or  tradition.  And  in- 
deed there  was  room  for  darkness  in  that  chamber, 
for  the  walls  went  up  and  up  into  such  an  altitude 
that  you  could  scarcely  see  the  ceiling,  at  which  mine 
host's  eyes  glanced,  and  Rodriguez  followed  his  look. 

He  accepted  his  accommodation  with  a  nod;  as 
indeed  he  would  have  accepted  any  room  in  that 
inn,  for  the  young  are  swift  judges  of  character, 
and  one  who  had  accepted  such  a  host  was  unlikely 


12  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

to  find  fault  with  rats  or  the  profusion  of  giant  cob- 
webs, dark  with  the  dust  of  years,  that  added  so 
much  to  the  dimness  of  that  sinister  inn.  They 
turned  now  and  went  back,  in  the  wake  of  that  gut- 
tering candle,  till  they  came  again  to  the  humbler 
part  of  the  building.  Here  mine  host,  pushing  open 
a  door  of  blackened  oak,  indicated  his  dining-cham- 
ber.  There  a  long  table  stood,  and  on  it  parts  of 
the  head  and  hams  of  a  boar;  and  at  the  far  end  of 
the  table  a  plump  and  sturdy  man  was  seated  in 
shirt-sleeves  feasting  himself  on  the  boar's  meat. 
He  leaped  up  at  once  from  his  chair  as  soon  as  his 
master  entered,  for  he  was  the  servant  at  the  Dragon 
and  Knight;  mine  host  may  have  said  much  to  him 
with  a  flash  of  his  eyes,  but  he  said  no  more  with 
his  tongue  than  the  one  word,  "Dog" :  he  then 
bowed  himself  out,  leaving  Rodriguez  to  take  the 
only  chair  and  to  be  waited  upon  by  its  recent 
possessor.  The  boar's  meat  was  cold  and  gnarled, 
another  piece  of  meat  stood  on  a  plate  on  a  shelf 
and  a  loaf  of  bread  near  by,  but  the  rats  had  had 
most  of  the  bread:  Rodriguez  demanded  what  the 
meat  was.  "Unicorn's  tongue,"  said  the  servant, 
and  Rodriguez  bade  him  set  the  dish  before  him, 
and  he  set  to  well  content,  though  I  fear  the  uni- 
corn's tongue  was  only  horse:  it  was  a  credulous 
age,  as  all  ages  are.  At  the  same  time  he  pointed  to 
a  three-legged  stool  that  he  perceived  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  then  to  the  table,  then  to  the  boar's  meat, 
and  lastly  at  the  servant,  who  perceived  that  he  was 
permitted  to  return  to  his  feast,  to  which  he  ran  with 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         13 

alacrity.  "Your  name?"  said  Rodriguez  as  soon  as 
both  were  eating.  "Morano,"  replied  the  servant, 
though  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  when  answering 
Rodriguez  he  spoke  as  curtly  as  this;  I  merely  give 
the  reader  the  gist  of  his  answer,  for  he  added 
Spanish  words  that  correspond  in  our  depraved  and 
decadent  language  of  to-day  to  such  words  as  "top 
dog,"  "nut"  and  "boss,"  so  that  his  speech  had  a 
certain  grace  about  it  in  that  far-away  time  in  Spain. 

I  have  said  that  Rodriguez  seldom  concerned 
himself  with  the  past,  but  considered  chiefly  the 
future:  it  was  of  the  future  that  he  was  thinking 
now  as  he  asked  Morano  this  question : 

"Why  did  my  worthy  and  entirely  excellent  host 
shut  his  door  in  my  face  ?" 

"Did  he  so?"  said  Morano, 

"He  then  bolted  it  and  found  it  necessary  to  put 
the  chains  back,  doubtless  for  some  good  reason." 

"Yes,"  said  Morano  thoughtfully,  and  looking  at 
Rodriguez,  "and  so  he  might.  He  must  have  liked 
you." 

Verily  Rodriguez  was  just  the  young  man  to  send 
out  with  a  sword  and  a  mandolin  into  the  wide 
world,  for  he  had  much  shrewd  sense.  He  never 
pressed  a  point,  but  when  something  had  been  said 
that  might  mean  much  he  preferred  to  store  it,  as  it 
were,  in  his  mind  and  pass  on  to  other  things,  some- 
what as  one  might  kill  game  and  pass  on  and  kill 
more  and  bring  it  all  home,  while  a  savage  would 
cook  the  first  kill  where  it  fell  and  eat  it  on  the  spot. 
Pardon  me.  reader,  but  at  Morano's  remark  you  may 


14  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

perhaps  have  exclaimed,  "That  is  not  the  way  to 
treat  one  you  Hke."  Not  so  did  Rodriguez.  His 
attention  passed  on  to  notice  Morano's  rings  which 
he  wore  in  great  profusion  upon  his  httle  fingers; 
they  were  gold  and  of  exquisite  work  and  had  once 
held  precious  stones,  as  large  gaps  testified ;  in  these 
days  they  would  have  been  priceless,  but  in  an  age 
when  workers  only  worked  at  arts  that  they  under- 
stood, and  then  worked  for  the  joy  of  it,  before  the 
word  artistic  became  ridiculous,  exquisite  work 
went  without  saying;  and  as  the  rings  were  slender 
they  were  of  little  value.  Rodriguez  made  no  com- 
ment upon  the  rings ;  it  was  enough  for  him  to  have 
noticed  them.  He  merely  noted  that  they  were  not 
ladies'  rings,  for  no  lady's  ring  would  have  fitted 
on  to  any  one  of  those  fingers :  the  rings  therefore 
of  gallants :  and  not  given  to  Morano  by  their 
owners,  for  whoever  wore  precious  stone  needed  a 
ring  to  wear  it  in,  and  rings  did  not  wear  out  like 
hose,  which  a  gallant  might  give  to  a  servant.  Nor, 
thought  he,  had  Morano  stolen  them,  for  whoever 
stole  them  would  keep  them  whole,  or  part  with 
them  whole  and  get  a  better  price.  Besides  Morano 
had  an  honest  face,  or  a  face  at  least  that  seemed 
honest  in  such  an  inn :  and  while  these  thoughts  were 
passing  through  his  mind  Morano  spoke  again : 
"Good  hams,"  said  Morano.  He  had  already  eaten 
one  and  was  starting  upon  the  next.  Perhaps  he 
spoke  out  of  gratitude  for  the  honour  and  physical 
advantage  of  being  permitted  to  sit  there  and  eat 
those  hams,  perhaps  tentatively,  to  find  out  whether 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         15 

he  might  consume  the  second,  perliaps  merely  to 
start  a  conversation,  being  attracted  by  the  honest 
looks  of  Rodriguez. 

"You  are  hungry,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Praise  God  I  am  always  hungry,"  answered 
Morano.    "If  I  were  not  hungry  I  should  starve." 

"Is  it  so?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"You  see,"  said  Morano,  "the  manner  of  it  is 
this :  my  master  gives  me  no  food,  and  it  is  only 
when  I  am  hungry  that  I  dare  to  rob  him  by  break- 
ing in,  as  you  saw  me,  upon  his  viands;  were  I  not 
hungry  I  should  not  dare  to  do  so,  and  so  .  .  ." 
He  made  a  sad  and  expressive  movement  with  both 
his  hands  suggestive  of  autumn  leaves  blown  hence 
to  die. 

"He  gives  you  no  food?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"It  is  the  way  of  many  men  with  their  dog,"  said 
Morano.  "They  give  him  no  food,"  and  then  he 
rubbed  his  hands  cheerfully,  "and  yet  the  dog  does 
not  die." 

"And  he  gives  you  no  wages?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Just  these  rings." 

Now  Rodriguez  had  himself  a  ring  upon  his  finger 
(as  a  gallant  should),  a  slender  piece  of  gold  with 
four  tiny  angels  holding  a  sapphire,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment he  pictured  the  sapphire  passing  into  the  hands 
of  mine  host  and  the  ring  of  gold  and  the  four 
small  angels  being  flung  to  Morano;  the  thought 
darkened  his  gaiety  for  no  longer  than  one  of 
those  fleecy  clouds  in  Spring  shadows  the  fields  of 
Spain. 


l6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Morano  was  also  looking  at  the  ring;  he  had  fol- 
lowed the  young  man's  glance. 

"Master,"  he  said,  *'do  you  draw  your  sword  of 
a  night?" 

"And  you  ?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"I  have  no  sword,"  said  Morano.  "I  am  but  as 
dog's  meat  that  needs  no  guarding,  but  you  whose 
meat  is  rare  like  the  flesh  of  the  unicorn  need  a 
sword  to  guard  your  meat.  The  unicorn  has  his 
horn  always,  and  even  then  he  sometimes  sleeps." 

"It  is  bad,  you  think,  to  sleep,"  Rodriguez  said. 

"For  some  it  is  very  bad,  master.  They  say  they 
never  take  the  unicorn  waking.  For  me  I  am  but 
dog's  meat :  when  I  have  eaten  hams  I  curl  up  and 
sleep ;  but  then  you  see,  master,  I  know  I  shall  wake 
in  the  morning." 

"Ah,"  said  Rodriguez,  "the  morning's  a  pleasant 
time,"  and  he  leaned  back  comfortably  in  his  chair. 
Morano  took  one  shrewd  look  at  him,  and  was  soon 
asleep  upon  his  three-legged  stool. 

The  door  opened  after  a  while  and  mine  host 
appeared.  "It  is  late,"  he  said.  Rodriguez  smiled 
acquiescently  and  mine  host  withdrew,  and  presently 
leaving  Morano  whom  his  master's  voice  had  waked, 
to  curl  up  on  the  floor  in  a  corner,  Rodriguez  took 
the  candle  that  lit  the  room  and  passed  once  more 
through  the  passages  of  the  inn  and  down  the  great 
corridor  of  the  fastness  of  the  family  that  had  fallen 
on  evil  days,  and  so  came  to  his  chamber.  I  will  not 
waste  a  multitude  of  words  over  that  chamber;  if 
you  have  no  picture  of  it  in  your  mind  already,  my 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         17 

reader,  you  are  reading  an  unskilled  writer,  and  if 
in  that  picture  it  appear  a  wholesome  room,  tidy 
and  well  kept  up,  if  it  appear  a  place  in  which  a 
stranger  might  sleep  without  some  faint  foreboding 
of  disaster,  then  I  am  wasting  your  time,  and  will 
waste  no  more  of  it  with  bits  of  "descriptive  writ- 
ing" about  that  dim,  high  room,  whose  blackness 
towered  before  Rodriguez  in  the  night.  He  entered 
and  shut  the  door,  as  many  had  done  before  him; 
but  for  all  his  youth  he  took  some  wiser  precautions 
than  had  they,  perhaps,  who  closed  that  door  before. 
For  first  he  drew  his  sword ;  then  for  some  while  he 
stood  quite  still  near  the  door  and  listened  to  the 
rats;  then  he  looked  round  the  chamber  and  per- 
ceived only  one  door;  then  he  looked  at  the  heavy 
oak  furniture,  carved  by  some  artist,  gnawed  by 
rats,  and  all  blackened  by  time;  then  swiftly  opened 
the  door  of  the  largest  cupboard  and  thrust  his 
sword  in  to  see  who  might  be  inside,  but  the  carved 
satyr's  heads  at  the  top  of  the  cupboard  eyed  him 
silently  and  nothing  moved.  Then  he  noted  that 
though  there  was  no  bolt  on  the  door  the  furniture 
might  be  placed  across  to  make  what  in  the  wars  is 
called  a  barricado,  but  the  wiser  thought  came  at 
once  that  this  was  too  easily  done,  and  that  if  the 
danger  that  the  dim  room  seemed  gloomily  to  fore- 
bode were  to  come  from  a  door  so  readily  barri- 
cadoed,  then  those  must  have  been  simple  gallants 
who  parted  so  easily  with  the  rings  that  adorned 
Morano's  two  little  fingers.  No,  it  was  something 
more  subtle  than  any  attack  through  that  door  that 


i8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

brought  his  regular  wages  to  Morano.  Rodriguez 
looked  at  the  window,  which  let  in  the  light  of  a 
moon  that  was  getting  low,  for  the  curtains  had 
years  ago  been  eaten  up  by  the  moths;  but  the  win- 
dow was  barred  with  iron  bars  that  were  not  yet 
rusted  away,  and  looked  out,  thus  guarded,  over  a 
sheer  wall  that  even  in  the  moonlight  fell  into  black- 
ness. Rodriguez  then  looked  round  for  some  hidden 
door,  the  sword  all  the  while  in  his  hand,  and  very 
soon  he  knew  that  room  fairly  well,  but  not  its 
secret,  nor  why  those  unknown  gallants  had  given 
up  their  rings. 

It  is  much  to  know  of  an  unknown  danger  that  it 
really  is  unknown.     Many  have  met  their  deaths 
through  looking   for  danger   from   one  particular 
direction,  whereas  had  they  perceived  that  they  were 
ignorant  of  its  direction  they  would  have  been  wise 
in  their  ignorance.     Rodriguez  had  the  great  dis- 
cretion to  understand  clearly  that  he  did  not  know 
the  direction  from  which  danger  would  come.     He 
accepted  this  as  his  only  discovery  about  that  por- 
tentous room  which  seemed  to  beckon  to  him  with 
every   shadow  and  to   sigh  over  him  with   every 
mournful  draught,  and  to  whisper  to  him  unintelligi- 
ble warnings  with  every  rustle  of  tattered  silk  that 
hunff  about  his  bed.     And  as  soon  as  he  discovered 
that  this  was  his  only  knowledge  he  began  at  once  to 
make  his  preparations :  he  was  a  right  young  man 
for  the  wars.    He  divested  himself  of  his  shoes  and 
doublet   and  the  light  cloak  that  hung   from  his 
shoulder  and  cast  the  clothes  on  a  chair.    Over  the 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         19 

back  of  the  chair  he  slung  his  girdle  and  the  scab- 
bard hanging  therefrom  and  placed  his  plumed  hat 
so  that  none  could  see  that  his  Castilian  blade  was 
not  in  its  resting-place.  And  when  the  sombre 
chamber  had  the  appearance  of  one  having  un- 
dressed in  it  before  retiring  Rodriguez  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  bed,  which  he  noticed  to  be  of  great 
depth  and  softness.  That  something  not  unlike 
blood  had  been  spilt  on  the  floor  excited  no  wonder 
in  Rodriguez;  that  vast  chamber  was  evidently,  as 
I  have  said,  in  the  fortress  of  some  great  family, 
against  one  of  whose  walls  the  humble  inn  had  once 
leaned  for  protection;  the  great  family  were  gone: 
how  they  were  gone  Rodriguez  did  not  know,  but  it 
excited  no  wonder  in  him  to  see  blood  on  the  boards : 
besides,  two  gallants  may  have  disagreed;  or  one 
who  loved  not  dumb  animals  might  have  been  killing 
rats.  Blood  did  not  disturb  him;  but  what  amazed 
him,  and  would  have  surprised  anyone  who  stood 
in  that  ruinous  room,  was  that  there  were  clean  new 
sheets  on  the  bed.  Had  you  seen  the  state  of  the 
furniture  and  the  floor,  O  my  reader,  and  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  old  cobwebs  and  the  black  dust  that  they 
held,  the  dead  spiders  and  huge  dead  flies,  and  the 
living  generation  of  spiders  descending  and  ascend- 
ing through  the  gloom,  I  say  that  you  also  would 
have  been  surprised  at  the  sight  of  those  nice  clean 
sheets.  Rodriguez  noted  the  fact  and  continued  his 
preparations.  He  took  the  bolster  from  underneath 
the  pillow  and  laid  it  down  the  middle  of  the  bed 
and  put  the  sheets  back  over  it;  then  he  stood  back 


20  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

and  looked  at  it,  much  as  a  sculptor  might  stand  back 
from  his  marble,  then  he  returned  to  it  and  bent  it 
a  little  in  the  middle,  and  after  that  he  placed  his 
mandolin  on  the  pillow  and  nearly  covered  it  with 
the  sheet,  but  not  quite,  for  a  little  of  the  curved 
dark-brown  wood   remained   still  to   be   seen.     It 
looked  wonderfully  now  like  a  sleeper  in  the  bed, 
but  Rodriguez  was  not  satisfied  with  his  work  until 
he  had  placed  his  kerchief  and  one  of  his  shoes 
where  a  shoulder  ought  to  be;  then  he  stood  back 
once  more  and  eyed  it  with  satisfaction.     Next  he 
considered  the  light.     He  looked  at  the  light  of  the 
moon  and  remembered  his  father's  advice,  as  the 
young  often  do,  but  considered  that  this  was  not  the 
occasion  for  it,  and  decided  to  leave  the  light  of  his 
candle  instead,  so  that  anyone  who  might  be  familiar 
with  the  moonlight  in  that  shadowy  chamber  should 
find   instead   a   less   sinister   light.      He   therefore 
dragged  a  table  to  the  bedside,  placed  the  candle  upon 
it,  and  opened  a  treasured  book  that  he  bore  in  his 
doublet,  and  laid  it  on  the  bed  near  by,  between  the 
candle  and  his  mandolin-headed  sleeper;  the  name 
of  the  book  was  Notes  in  a  Cathedral  and  dealt  with 
the  confessions  of  a  young  girl,  which  the  author 
claimed  to  have  jotted  down,  while  concealed  be- 
hind a  pillow  near  the  Confessional,  every  Sunday 
for  the  entire  period  of  Lent.     Lastly  he  pulled  a 
sheet  a  little  loose  from  the  bed,  until  a  corner  of  it 
lay  on  the  floor;  then  he  lay  down  on  the  boards, 
still  keeping  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  by  means 
of  the  sheet  and  some  silk  that  hung  from  the  bed, 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         21 

he  concealed  himself  sufficient  for  his  purpose,  which 
was  to  see  before  he  should  be  seen  by  any  intruder 
that  might  enter  that  chamber. 

And  if  Rodriguez  appear  to  have  been  unduly 
suspicious,  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  not  only  that 
those  empty  rings  needed  much  explanation,  but  that 
every  house  suggests  to  the  stranger  something;  and 
that  whereas  one  house  seems  to  promise  a  welcome 
in  front  of  cosy  fires,  another  good  fare,  another 
joyous  wine,  this  inn  seemed  to  promise  murder;  or 
so  the  young  man's  intuition  said,  and  the  young  are 
wise  to  trust  to  their  intuitions. 

The  reader  will  know,  if  he  be  one  of  us,  who  have 
been  to  the  wars  and  slept  in  curious  ways,  that  it  is 
hard  to  sleep  when  sober  upon  a  floor;  it  is  not  like 
the  earth,  or  snow,  or  a  feather  bed ;  even  rock  can 
be  more  accommodating;  it  is  hard,  unyielding  and 
level,  all  night  unmistakable  floor.  Yet  Rodriguez 
took  no  risk  of  falling  asleep,  so  he  said  over  to  him- 
self in  his  mind  as  much  as  he  remembered  of  his 
treasured  book,  Notes  in  a  Cathedral,  which  he  al- 
ways read  to  himself  before  going  to  rest  and  now 
so  sadly  missed.  It  told  how  a  lady  who  had  listened 
to  a  lover  longer  than  her  soul's  safety  could  war- 
rant, as  he  played  languorous  music  in  the  moon- 
light and  sang  soft  by  her  low  balcony,  and  how  she 
being  truly  penitent,  had  gathered  many  roses,  the 
emblems  of  love  (as  surely,  she  said  at  confession, 
all  the  world  knows) ,  and  when  her  lover  came  again 
by  moonlight  had  cast  them  all  from  her  from  the 
bnlcony,  showing  that  she  had  renounced  love;  and 


22  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

her  lover  had  entirely  misunderstood  her.  It  told 
how  she  often  tried  to  show  him  this  again,  and  all 
the  misunderstandings  are  sweetly  set  forth  and  with 
true  Christian  penitence.  Sometimes  some  little 
matter  escaped  Rodriguez's  memory  and  then  he 
longed  to  rise  up  and  look  at  his  dear  book,  yet  he 
lay  still  where  he  was :  and  all  the  while  he  listened 
to  the  rats,  and  the  rats  went  on  gnawing  and  run- 
ning regularly,  scared  by  nothing  new;  Rodriguez 
trusted  as  much  to  their  myriad  ears  as  to  his  own 
two.  The  great  spiders  descended  out  of  such 
heights  that  you  could  not  see  whence  they  came, 
and  ascended  again  into  blackness ;  it  was  a  chamber 
of  prodigious  height.  Sometimes  the  shadow  of 
a  descending  spider  that  had  come  close  to  the  candle 
assumed  a  frightening  size,  but  Rodriguez  gave 
little  thought  to  it;  it  was  of  murder  he  was  think- 
ing, not  of  shadows ;  still,  in  its  way  it  was  ominous, 
and  reminded  Rodriguez  horribly  of  his  host;  but 
what  of  an  omen,  again,  in  a  chamber  full  of  omens. 
The  place  itself  was  ominous;  spiders  could  scarce 
make  it  more  so.  The  spider  itself  was  big  enough, 
he  thought,  to  be  impaled  on  his  Castilian  blade; 
indeed,  he  would  have  done  it  but  that  he  thought 
it  wiser  to  stay  where  he  was  and  watch.  And  then 
the  spider  found  the  candle  too  hot  and  climbed  in 
a  hurry  all  the  way  to  the  ceiling,  and  his  horrible 
shadow  grew  less  and  dwindled  away. 

It  was  not  that  the  rats  were  frightened :  whatever 
it  was  that  happened  happened  too  quietly  for  that, 
but  the  volume  of  the  sound  of  their  running  had 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         23 

suddenly  increased :  it  was  not  like  fear  among  them, 
for  the  running  was  no  swifter,  and  it  did  not  fade 
away;  it  was  as  though  the  sound  of  rats  running, 
which  had  not  been  heard  before,  was  suddenly 
heard  now.  Rodriguez  looked  at  the  door,  the  door 
was  shut.  A  young  Englishman  would  long  ago 
have  been  afraid  that  he  was  making  a  fuss  over 
nothing  and  would  have  gone  to  sleep  in  the  bed, 
and  not  seen  what  Rodriguez  saw.  He  might  have 
thought  that  hearing  more  rats  all  at  once  was 
merely  a  fancy,  and  that  everything  was  all  right. 
Rodriguez  saw  a  rope  coming  slowly  down  from  the 
ceiling,  he  quickly  determined  whether  it  was  a  rope 
or  only  the  shadow  of  some  huge  spider's  thread, 
and  then  he  watched  it  and  saw  it  come  down  right 
over  his  bed  and  stop  within  a  few  feet  of  it. 
Rodriguez  looked  up  cautiously  to  see  who  had  sent 
him  that  strange  addition  to  the  portents  that 
troubled  the  chaml^er,  but  the  ceiling  was  too  high 
and  dim  for  him  to  perceive  anything  but  the  rope 
coming  down  out  of  the  darkness.  Yet  he  surmised 
that  the  ceiling  must  have  softly  opened,  without 
any  sound  at  all,  at  the  moment  that  he  heard  the 
greater  number  of  rats.  He  waited  then  to  see  what 
the  rope  would  do;  and  at  first  it  hung  as  still  as 
the  great  festoons  dead  spiders  had  made  in  the 
corners;  then  as  he  watched  it  it  began  to  sway.  He 
looked  up  into  the  dimness  then  to  see  who  was 
swaying  the  rope;  and  for  a  long  time,  as  it  seemed 
to  him  lying  gripping  his  Castilian  sword  on  the 
floor  he  saw  nothing  clearly.    And  then  he  saw  mine 


24  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

host  coming  down  the  rope,  hand  over  hand  quite 
nimbly,  as  though  he  hved  by  this  business.  In  his 
right  hand  he  held  a  poniard  of  exceptional  length, 
yet  he  managed  to  clutch  the  rope  and  hold  the 
poniard  all  the  time  with  the  same  hand. 

If  there  had  been  something  hideous  about  the 
shadow  of  the  spider  that  came  down  from  that 
height  the  shadow  of  mine  host  was  indeed  de- 
moniac. He  too  was  like  a  spider,  with  his  body  at 
no  time  slender  all  bunched  up  on  the  rope,  and  his 
shadow  was  six  times  his  size :  you  could  turn  from 
the  spider's  shadow  to  the  spider  and  see  that  it  was 
for  the  most  part  a  fancy  of  the  candle  half  crazed 
by  the  draughts,  but  to  turn  from  mine  host's 
shadow  to  himself  and  to  see  his  wicked  eyes  was 
to  say  that  the  candle's  wildest  fears  were  true.  So 
he  climbed  down  his  rope  holding  his  poniard  up- 
ward. But  when  he  came  within  perhaps  ten  feet 
of  the  bed  he  pointed  it  downward  and  began  to 
sway  about.  It  will  be  readily  seen  that  by  swaying 
his  rope  at  a  height  mine  host  could  drop  on  any 
part  of  the  bed.  Rodriguez  as  he  watched  him  saw 
him  scrutinise  closely  and  continue  to  sway  on  his 
rope.  He  feared  that  mine  host  was  ill  satisfied  with 
the  look  of  the  mandolin  and  that  he  would  climb 
away  again,  well  warned  of  his  guest's  astuteness, 
into  the  heights  of  the  ceiling  to  devise  some  fear- 
fuller  scheme;  but  he  was  only  looking  for  the 
shoulder.  And  then  mine  host  dropped;  poniard 
first,  he  went  down  with  all  his  weight  behind  it  and 
drove  it  through  the  bolster  below  where  the  shoul- 


THE  DRAGON  AND  KNIGHT         25 

der  should  be,  just  where  we  slant  our  arms  across 
our  bodies,  when  we  lie  asleep  on  our  sides,  leaving 
the  ribs  exposed :  and  the  soft  bed  received  him. 
And  the  moment  that  mine  host  let  go  of  his  rope 
Rodriguez  leaped  to  his  feet.  He  saw  Rodriguez, 
indeed  their  eyes  met  as  he  dropped  through  the  air, 
but  what  could  mine  host  do  ?  He  was  already  com- 
mitted to  his  stroke,  and  his  poniard  was  already 
deep  in  the  mattress  when  the  good  Castilian  blade 
passed  through  his  ribs. 


THE    SECOND    CHRONICLE 


27 


w 


THE  SECOND  CHRONICLE 

HOW   HE   HIRED   A    MEMORABLE    SERVANT 

HEN  Rodriguez  woke,  the  birds  were  singing 
gloriously.  The  sun  was  up  and  the  air 
was  sparkling  over  Spain.  The  gloom  had  left  his 
high  chamber,  and  much  of  the  menace  had  gone 
from  it  that  overnight  had  seemed  to  bode  in  the 
corners.  It  had  not  become  suddenly  tidy;  it  was 
still  more  suitable  for  spiders  than  men,  it  still 
mourned  and  brooded  over  the  great  family  that  it 
had  nursed  and  that  evil  days  had  so  obviously  over- 
taken ;  but  it  no  longer  had  the  air  of  finger  to  lips, 
no  longer  seemed  to  share  a  secret  with  you,  and  that 
secret  Murder.  The  rats  still  ran  round  the  wainscot, 
but  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  jolly,  dazzling  sun- 
shine were  so  much  larger  than  the  sombre  room  that 
the  young  man's  thoughts  escaped  from  it  and  ran 
free  to  the  fields.  It  may  have  been  only  his  fancy 
but  the  world  seemed  somehow  brighter  for  the 
demise  of  mine  host  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight, 
whose  body  still  lay  hunched  up  on  the  foot  of  his 
bed.     Rodriguez  jumped  up  and  went  to  the  high, 

29 


30  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

barred  window  and  looked  out  of  it  at  the  morning: 
far  below  him  a  little  town  with  red  roofs  lay;  the 
smoke  came  up  from  the  chimneys  toward  him 
slowly,  and  spread  out  fiat  and  did  not  reach  so 
high.  Between  him  and  the  roofs  swallows  were 
sailing. 

He  found  water  for  washing  in  a  cracked  pitcher 
of  earthenware  and  as  he  dressed  he  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling  and  admired  mine  host's  device,  for  there  was 
an  open  hole  that  had  come  noiselessly,  without  any 
sounds  of  bolts  or  lifting  of  trap-doors,  but  seemed 
to  have  opened  out  all  round  on  perfectly  oiled 
groves,  to  fit  that  well-to-do  body,  and  down  from 
the  middle  of  it  from  some  higher  beam  hung  the 
rope  down  which  mine  host  had  made  his  last 
journey. 

Before  taking  leave  of  his  host  Rodriguez  looked 
at  his  poniard,  which  was  a  good  two  feet  in  length, 
not  counting  the  hilt,  and  was  surprised  to  find  it 
an  excellent  blade.  It  bore  a  design  on  the  steel 
representing  a  town,  which  Rodriguez  recognised  for 
the  towers  of  Toledo ;  and  had  held  moreover  a  jewel 
at  the  end  of  the  hilt,  but  the  little  gold  socket  was 
empty.  Rodriguez  therefore  perceived  that  the 
poniard  was  that  of  a  gallant,  and  surmised  that  mine 
host  had  begun  his  trade  with  a  butcher's  knife,  but 
having  come  by  the  poniard  had  found  it  to  be 
handier  for  his  business.  Rodriguez  being  now  fully 
dressed,  girt  his  own  blade  about  him,  and  putting 
the  poniard  under  his  cloak,  for  he  thought  to  find  a 
use  for  it  at  the  wars,  set  his  plumed  hat  upon  him 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  31 

and  jauntily  stepped  from  the  chamber.  By  the  light 
of  day  he  saw  clearly  at  what  point  the  passages  of  the 
inn  had  dared  to  make  their  intrusion  on  the  corridors 
of  the  fortress,  for  he  walked  for  four  paces  between 
walls  of  huge  grey  rocks  which  had  never  been  plas- 
tered and  were  clearly  a  breach  in  the  fortress, 
though  whether  the  breach  were  made  by  one  of  the 
evil  days  that  had  come  upon  the  family  in  their  fast- 
ness, and  whether  men  had  poured  through  it  with 
torches  and  swords,  or  whether  the  gap  had  been  cut 
in  later  years  for  mine  host  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight,  and  he  had  gone  quietly  through  it  rubbing 
his  hands,  nothing  remained  to  show  Rodriguez  now. 

When  he  came  to  the  dining-chamber  he  found 
Morano  astir.  Morano  looked  up  from  his  over- 
whelming task  of  tidying  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight  and  then  went  on  with  his  pretended  work, 
for  he  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  the  knowledge  he  had 
concerning  the  ways  of  that  inn,  which  was  more 
than  an  honest  man  should  know  about  such  a 
place. 

"Good  morning,  Morano,"  said  Rodriguez 
blithely. 

"Good  morning,"  answered  the  servant  of  the 
Dragon  and  Knight. 

"I  am  looking  for  the  wars.  Would  you  like  a 
new  master,  Morano?" 

"Indeed,"  said  Morano,  "a  good  master  is  better 
to  some  men's  minds  than  a  bad  one.  Yet,  you  see 
senor,  my  bad  master  has  me  bound  never  to  leave 
him,  by  oaths  that  I  do  not  properly  understand  the 


32  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

meaning  of,  and  that  might  blast  me  in  any  world 
were  I  to  forswear  them.  He  hath  bound  me  by 
San  Sathanas,  with  many  others.  I  do  not  like  the 
sound  of  that  San  Sathanas.  And  so  you  see,  seiior, 
my  bad  master  suits  me  better  than  perhaps  to  be 
whithered  in  this  world  by  a  levin-stroke,  and  in  the 
next  world  who  knows?" 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "there  is  a  dead  spider 
on  my  bed." 

"A  dead  spider,  master?"  said  Morano,  with  as 
much  concern  in  his  voice  as  though  no  spider  had 
ever  sullied  that  chamber  before. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez,  "I  shall  require  you  to 
keep  my  bed  tidy  on  our  way  to  the  wars." 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "no  spider  shall  come  near 
it,  living  or  dead." 

And  so  our  company  of  one  going  northward 
through  Spain  looking  for  romance  became  a  com- 
pany of  two. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "as  I  do  not  see  him 
whom  I  serve,  and  his  ways  are  early  ways,  I  fear 
-,ome  evil  has  overtaken  him,  whereby  we  shall  be 
suspect,  for  none  other  dwells  here :  and  he  is  under 
special  protection  of  the  Garda  Civil ;  it  would  be  well 
therefore  to  start  for  the  wars  right  early." 

"The  guard  protect  mine  host  then."  Rodriguez 
said  with  as  much  surprise  in  his  tones  as  he  ever 
permitted  himself. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "it  could  not  be  other- 
wise. For  so  many  gallants  have  entered  the  door 
of  this  inn  and  supped  in  this  chamber  and  never  been 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  33 

seen  again,  and  so  many  suspicious  things  have  been 
found  here,  such  as  blood,  that  it  became  necessary 
for  him  to  pay  the  guard  well,  and  so  they  protect 
him."  And  Morano  hastily  slung  over  his  shoulder 
by  leather  straps  an  iron  pot  and  a  frying-pan  and 
took  his  broad  felt  hat  from  a  peg  on  the  wall. 

Rodriguez'  eyes  looked  so  curiously  at  the  great 
cooking  utensils  dangling  there  from  the  straps  that 
Morano  perceived  his  young  master  did  not  fully 
understand  these  preparations :  he  therefore  in- 
structed him  thus:  "Master,  there  be  two  things 
necessary  in  the  wars,  strategy  and  cooking.  Now 
the  first  of  these  comes  in  use  when  the  captains 
speak  of  their  achievements  and  the  historians  write 
of  the  wars.  Strategy  is  a  learned  thing,  master,  and 
the  wars  may  not  be  told  of  without  it,  but  while 
the  war  rageth  and  men  be  camped  upon  the 
foughten  field  then  is  the  time  for  cooking;  for  many 
a  man  that  fights  the  wars,  if  he  hath  not  his  food, 
were  well  content  to  let  the  enemy  live,  but  feed  him 
and  at  once  he  becometh  proud  at  heart  and  cannot 
a-bear  the  sight  of  the  enemy  walking  among  his 
tents  but  must  needs  slay  him  outright.  Aye,  master, 
the  cooking  for  the  wars;  and  when  the  wars  are 
over  you  who  are  learned  shall  study  strategy." 

And  Rodriguez  perceived  that  there  was  wisdom 
in  the  world  that  was  not  taught  in  the  College  of 
San  Josephus,  near  to  his  father's  valleys,  where  he 
had  learned  in  his  youth  the  ways  of  books. 

"Morano,"  he  said,  "let  us  now  leave  mine  host 
to  entertain  la  Garda." 


34  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

And  at  the  mention  of  the  guard  hurry  came  on 
Morano,  he  closed  his  Hps  upon  his  store  of  wisdom, 
and  together  they  left  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight.  And  when  Rodriguez  saw  shut  behind  him 
that  dark  door  of  oak  that  he  had  so  persistently 
entered,  and  through  which  he  had  come  again  to  the 
light  of  the  sun  by  many  precautions  and  some  luck, 
he  felt  gratitude  to  Morano.  For  had  it  not  been 
for  Morano's  sinister  hints,  and  above  all  his  re- 
mark that  mine  host  would  have  driven  him  thence 
because  he  liked  him,  the  evil  look  of  the  sombre 
chamber  alone  might  not  have  been  enough  to  per- 
suade him  to  the  precautions  that  cut  short  the  dread- 
ful business  of  that  inn.  And  with  his  gratitude  was 
a  feeling  not  unlike  remorse,  for  he  felt  that  he  had 
deprived  this  poor  man  of  a  part  of  his  regular 
wages,  which  would  have  been  his  own  gold  ring  and 
the  setting  that  held  the  sapphire,  had  all  gone  well 
with  the  business.  So  he  slipped  the  ring  from  his 
finger  and  gave  it  to  Morano,  sapphire  and  all. 

Morano's  expressions  of  gratitude  were  in  keeping 
with  that  flowery  period  in  Spain,  and  might  appear 
ridiculous  were  I  to  expose  them  to  the  eyes  of  an 
age  in  which  one  in  Morano's  place  on  such  an 
occasion  would  have  merely  said,  "Damned  good  of 
you  old  nut,  not  half,"  and  let  the  matter  drop. 

I  merely  record  therefore  that  Morano  was  grate- 
ful and  so  expressed  himself;  while  Rodriguez,  in 
addition  to  the  pleasant  glow  in  the  mind  that  comes 
from  a  generous  action,  had  another  feeling  that 
gives  all  of  us  pleasure,  or  comfort  at  least  (until  it 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  35 

grows  monotonous),  a  feeling  of  increased  safety; 
for  while  he  had  the  ring  upon  his  finger  and  Mo- 
rano  went  unpaid  the  thought  could  not  help  occur- 
ring, even  to  a  generous  mind,  that  one  of  these 
windy  nights  Morano  might  come  for  his  wages. 

"Master,"  said  Morano  looking  at  the  sapphire 
now  on  his  own  little  finger  near  the  top  joint,  the 
only  stone  amongst  his  row  of  rings,  "you  must 
surely  have  great  wealth." 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez  slapping  the  scabbard  that 
held  his  Castilian  blade.  And  when  he  saw  that 
Morano's  eyes  were  staring  at  the  little  emeralds 
that  were  dotted  along  the  velvet  of  the  scabbard 
he  explained  that  it  was  the  sword  that  was  his 
wealth : 

"For  in  the  wars,"  he  said,  "are  all  things  to  be 
won,  and  nothing  is  unobtainable  to  the  sword.  For 
parchment  and  custom  govern  all  the  possessions  of 
man,  as  they  taught  me  in  the  College  of  San  Jo- 
sephus.  Yet  the  sword  is  at  first  the  founder  and 
discoverer  of  all  possessions;  and  this  my  father 
told  me  before  he  gave  me  this  sword,  which  hath 
already  acquired  in  the  old  time  fair  castles  with 
many  a  tower." 

"And  those  that  dwelt  in  the  castles,  master,  before 
the  sword  came?"  said  Morano. 

"They  died  and  went  dismally  to  Hell,"  said 
Rodriguez,  "as  the  old  songs  say." 

They  walked  on  then  in  silence.  Morano,  with 
his  low  forehead  and  greater  girth  of  body  than  of 
brain  to  the  superficial  observer,  was  not  incapable 


36  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

of  thought.  However  slow  his  thoughts  may  have 
come,  Morano  was  pondering  surely.  Suddenly  the 
puckers  on  his  little  forehead  cleared  and  he  brightly 
looked  at  Rodriguez  as  they  went  on  side  by  side. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "when  you  choose  a  castle 
in  the  wars,  let  it  above  all  things  be  one  of  those 
that  is  easy  to  be  defended;  for  castles  are  easily 
got,  as  the  old  songs  tell,  and  in  the  heat  of  combat 
positions  are  quickly  stormed,  and  no  more  ado ;  but, 
when  wars  are  over,  then  is  the  time  for  ease  and 
languorous  days  and  the  imperilling  of  the  soul, 
though  not  beyond  the  point  where  our  good  fathers 
may  save  it." 

"Nay,  Morano,"  Rodriguez  said,  "no  man,  as 
they  taught  me  well  in  the  College  of  San  Josephus, 
should  ever  imperil  his  soul." 

"But,  master,"  Morano  said,  "a  man  imperils  his 
body  in  the  wars  yet  hopes  by  dexterity  and  his  sword 
to  draw  it  safely  thence:  so  a  man  of  courage  and 
high  heart  may  surely  imperil  his  soul  and  still  hope 
to  bring  it  at  the  last  to  salvation." 

"Not  so,"  said  Rodriguez,  and  gave  his  mind  to 
pondering  upon  the  exact  teaching  he  had  received 
on  this  very  point,  but  could  not  clearly  remember. 

So  they  walked  in  silence,  Rodriguez  thinking  still 
of  this  spiritual  problem,  Morano  turning,  though 
with  infinite  slowness,  to  another  thought  upon  a 
lower  plane. 

And  after  a  while  Rodriguez'  eyes  turned  again  to 
the  flowers,  and  he  felt  his  meditation,  as  youth  will, 
and  looking  abroad  he  saw  the  wonder  of  Spring 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  2>7 

calling  forth  the  beauty  of  Spain,  and  he  lifted  up  his 
head  and  his  heart  rejoiced  with  the  anemones,  as 
hearts  at  his  age  do :  but  Morano  clung  to  his 
thought. 

It  was  long  before  Rodriguez'  fanciful  thoughts 
came  back  from  among  the  flowers,  for  among  those 
delicate  earliest  blooms  of  Spring  his  youthful 
visions  felt  they  were  with  familiars ;  so  they  tarried, 
neglecting  the  dusty  road  and  poor  gross  JMorano. 
But  when  his  fancies  left  the  flowers  at  last  and 
looked  again  at  Morano,  Rodriguez  perceived  that 
his  servant  was  all  troubled  with  thought :  so  he  left 
Morano  in  silence  for  his  thought  to  come  to 
maturity,  for  he  had  formed  a  liking  already  for  the 
judgments  of  Morano's  simple  mind. 

They  walked  in  silence  for  the  space  of  an  hour, 
and  at  last  Morano  spoke.  It  was  then  noon. 
"Master,"  he  said,  "at  this  hour  it  is  the  custom 
of  la  Garda  to  enter  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and  to 
dine  at  the  expense  of  mine  host." 

"A  merry  custom,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "if  they  find  him  in  less 
than  his  usual  health  they  will  get  their  dinners  for 
themselves  in  the  larder  and  dine  and  afterwards 
sleep.  But  after  that,  master,  after  that,  should 
anything  inauspicious  have  befallen  mine  host,  they 
will  seek  out  and  ask  many  questions  concerning  all 
travellers,  too  many  for  our  liking." 

"Wc  are  many  good  miles  from  the  Inn  of  the 
Dragon  and  Knight,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,   when   they   have   eaten   and    slept   and 


38  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

asked  questions  they  will  follow  on  horses,"  said 
Morano. 

"We  can  hide,"  said  Rodriguez,  and  he  looked 
round  over  the  plain,  very  full  of  flowers,  but  empty 
and  bare  under  the  blue  sky  of  any  place  in  which  a 
man  might  hide  to  escape  from  pursuers  on  horse- 
back.   He  perceived  then  that  he  had  no  plan. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "there  is  no  hiding  like 
disguises." 

Once  more  Rodriguez  looked  round  him  over  the 
plain,  seeing  no  houses,  no  men ;  and  his  opinion  of 
Morano's  judgment  sank  when  he  said  disguises. 
But  then  Morano  unfolded  to  him  that  plan  which 
up  to  that  day  had  never  been  tried  before,  so  far  as 
records  tell,  in  all  the  straits  in  which  fugitive  men 
have  been;  and  which  seems  from  my  researches  in 
verse  and  prose  never  to  have  been  attempted  since. 

The  plan  was  this,  astute  as  Morano,  and  simple 
as  his  naive  mind.  The  clothing  for  which  Rodri- 
guez searched  the  plain  vainly  was  ready  to  hand.  No 
disguise  was  effective  against  la  Garda,  they  had  too 
many  suspicions,  their  skill  was  to  discover  dis- 
guises. But  in  the  moment  of  la  Garda's  triumph, 
when  they  had  found  out  the  disguise,  when  success 
had  lulled  the  suspicions  for  which  they  were  in- 
famous, then  was  the  time  to  trick  la  Garda.  Rodri- 
guez wondered;  but  the  slow  mind  of  Morano  was 
sure,  and  now  he  came  to  the  point,  the  fruit  of  his 
hour's  thinking.  Rodriguez  should  disguise  himself 
as  Morano.  When  la  Garda  discovered  that  he  was 
not  the  man  he  appeared  to  be,  a  study  to  which  they 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  39 

devoted  their  lives,  their  suspicions  would  rest  and 
there  would  be  an  end  of  it.  And  Morano  should 
disguise  himself  as  Rodriguez. 

It  was  a  new  idea.  Had  Rodriguez  been  twice  his 
age  he  would  have  discarded  it  at  once;  for  age  is 
guided  by  precedent  which,  when  pursued,  is  a 
dangerous  guide  indeed.  Even  as  it  was  he  was 
critical,  for  the  novelty  of  the  thing  coming  thus 
from  his  gross  servant  surprised  him  as  much  as 
though  Morano  had  uttered  poetry  of  his  own  when 
he  sang,  as  he  sometimes  did,  certain  merry  lascivious 
songs  of  Spain  that  any  one  of  the  last  few  centuries 
knew  as  well  as  any  of  the  others. 

And  would  not  la  Garda  find  out  that  he  was 
himself,  Rodriguez  asked,  as  quickly  as  they  found 
out  he  was  not  Morano. 

"That,"  said  Morano,  "is  not  the  way  of  la 
Garda.  For  once  let  la  Garda  come  by  a  suspicion, 
such  as  that  you,  master,  are  but  Morano,  and  they 
will  cling  to  it  even  to  the  last,  and  not  abandon  it 
until  they  needs  must,  and  then  throw  it  away  as 
it  were  in  disgust  and  ride  hence  at  once,  for  they 
like  not  tarrying  long  near  one  who  has  seen  them 
mistaken." 

"They  will  soon  then  come  by  another  suspicion," 
said  Rodriguez. 

"Not  so,  master,"  answered  Morano,  "for  those 
that  are  as  suspicious  as  la  Garda  change  their  sus- 
picions but  slowly.  A  suspicion  is  an  old  song  to 
them." 

"Then,"  said  Rodriguez,  "I  shall  be  hard  set  ever 


40  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

to  show  that  I  am  not  you  if  they  ever  suspect  I  am." 

"It  will  be  hard,  master,"  Morano  answered;  "but 
we  shall  do  it,  for  we  shall  have  truth  upon  our 
side." 

"How  shall  we  disguise  ourselves?"  said  Rodri- 
guez. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "when  you  came  to  our 
town  none  knew  you  and  all  marked  your  clothes. 
As  for  me  my  fat  body  is  better  known  than  my 
clothes,  yet  am  I  not  too  well  known  by  la  Garda, 
for,  being  an  honest  man,  whenever  la  Garda  came 
I  used  to  hide." 

"You  did  well,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Certainly  I  did  well,"  said  Morano,  "for  had 
they  seen  me  they  might,  on  account  of  certain 
matters,  have  taken  me  to  prison,  and  prison  is  no 
place  for  an  honest  man." 

"Let  us  disguise  ourselves,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  answered  Morano,  "the  brain  is  greater 
than  the  stomach,  and  now  more  than  at  any  time 
we  need  the  counsel  of  the  brain;  let  us  therefore 
appease  the  clamours  of  the  stomach  that  it  be 
silent." 

And  he  drew  out  from  amongst  his  clothing  a  piece 
of  sacking  in  which  was  a  mass  of  bacon  and  some 
lard,  and  unslung  his  huge  frying-pan.  Rodriguez 
had  entirely  forgotten  the  need  of  food,  but  now  the 
memory  of  it  had  rushed  upon  him  like  a  flood  over  a 
barrier,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  bacon.  And  when 
they  had  collected  enough  of  tiny  inflammable  things, 
for  it  was  a  treeless  plain,  and  Morano  had  made  a 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  41 

fire,  and  the  odour  of  the  bacon  became  perceptible, 
this  memory  was  hugely  intensified. 

"Let  us  eat  while  they  eat,  master,"  said  Morano, 
"and  plan  while  they  sleep,  and  disguise  ourselves 
while  they  pursue." 

And  this  they  did :  for  after  they  had  eaten  they 
d\ig  up  earth  and  gathered  leaves  with  which  to  fill 
the  gaps  in  Morano's  garments  when  they  should 
hang  on  Rodriguez,  they  plucked  a  geranium  with 
whose  dye  they  deepened  Rodriguez'  complexion,  and 
with  the  sap  from  the  stalk  of  a  weed  Morano  toned 
to  a  pallor  the  ruddy  brown  of  his  tough  cheeks. 
Then  they  changed  clothes  altogether,  which  made 
Morano  gasp :  and  after  that  nothing  remained  but  to 
cut  oflf  the  delicate  black  moustachios  of  Rodriguez 
and  to  stick  them  to  the  face  of  Morano  with  the 
juice  of  another  flower  that  he  knew  where  to  find. 
Rodriguez  sighed  when  he  saw  them  go.  He  had  pic- 
tured ecstatic  glances  cast  some  day  at  those  mous- 
tachios,  glances  from  under  long  eyelashes  twink- 
ling at  evening  from  balconies ;  and  looking  at  them 
where  they  were  now,  he  felt  that  this  was  impossible. 

For  one  moment  Morano  raised  his  head  with  an 
air,  as  it  were  preening  himself,  when  the  new 
moustachios  had  stuck ;  but  as  soon  as  he  saw,  or  felt, 
his  master's  sorrow  at  their  loss  he  immediately  hung 
his  head,  showing  nothing  but  shame  for  the  loss  he 
had  caused  his  master,  or  for  the  impropriety  of 
those  delicate  growths  that  so  ill  become  his  jowl. 
And  now  they  took  the  road  again,  Rodriguez  with 
the  great  frying-pan  and  cooking-pot;  no  longer  to- 


42  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

gether,  but  not  too  far  apart  for  la  Garda  to  take 
them  both  at  once,  and  to  make  the  doubly  false 
charge  that  should  so  confound  their  errand.  And 
Morano  wore  that  old  triumphant  sword,  and  carried 
the  mandolin  that  was  ever  young. 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  it  was  as  Morano  had 
said ;  for,  looking  back,  as  they  often  did,  to  the  spot 
where  their  road  touched  the  sky-line,  they  saw  la 
Garda  spurring,  seven  of  them  in  their  unmistakable 
looped  hats,  very  clear  against  the  sky  which  a 
moment  ago  seemed  so  fair. 

When  the  seven  saw  the  two  they  did  not  spare 
the  dust ;  and  first  they  came  to  Morano. 

"You,"  they  said,  "are  Rodriguez  Trinidad  Fer- 
nandez, Concepcion  Henrique  Maria,  a  Lord  of  the 
Valleys  of  Arguento  Harez." 

"No,  masters,"  said  Morano. 

Oh  but  denials  were  lost  upon  la  Garda. 

Denials  inflamed  their  suspicions  as  no  other  evi- 
dence could.  Many  a  man  had  they  seen  with  his 
throat  in  the  hands  of  the  public  garrotter;  and  all 
had  begun  with  denials  who  ended  thus.  They 
looked  at  the  mandolin,  at  the  gay  cloak,  at  the 
emeralds  in  the  scabbard,  for  wherever  emeralds  go 
there  is  evidence  to  identify  them,  until  the  nature 
of  man  changes  or  the  price  of  emeralds.  They  spoke 
hastily  among  themselves. 

"Without  doubt,"  said  one  of  them,  "you  are 
whom  we  said."    And  they  arrested  Morano. 

Then  they  spurred  on  to  Rodriguez.  "You  are, 
they  said,  "as  no  man  doubts,  one  Morano,  servant 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  43 

at  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight,  whose  good 
master  is,  as  we  allege,  dead." 

"Masters,"  answered  Rodriguez,  "I  am  but  a  poor 
traveller,  and  no  servant  at  any  inn." 

Now  la  Garda,  as  I  have  indicated,  will  hear  all 
things  except  denials ;  and  thus  to  receive  two  within 
the  space  of  two  moments  infuriated  them  so  fiercely 
that  they  were  incapable  of  forming  any  other  theory 
that  day  except  the  one  they  held. 

There  are  many  men  like  this;  they  can  form  a 
plausible  theory  and  grasp  its  logical  points,  but  take 
it  away  from  them  and  destroy  it  utterly  before  their 
eyes,  and  they  will  not  so  easily  lash  their  tired  brains 
at  once  to  build  another  theory  in  place  of  the  one 
that  is  ruined. 

"As  the  saints  live,"  they  said,  "you  are  Morano." 
And  they  arrested  Rodriguez  too. 

Now  when  they  began  to  turn  back  by  the  way 
they  had  come  Rodriguez  began  to  fear  overmuch 
identification,  so  he  assured  la  Garda  that  in  the 
next  village  ahead  of  them  were  those  who  would 
answer  all  questions  concerning  him,  as  well  as  being 
the  possessors  of  the  firiest  vintage  of  wine  in  the 
kingdom  of  Spain. 

Now  it  may  be  that  the  mention  of  this  wine 
soothed  the  anger  caused  in  the  men  of  la  Garda  by 
two  denials,  or  it  may  be  that  curiosity  guided  them, 
at  any  rate  they  took  the  road  that  led  away  from 
last  night's  sinister  shelter,  Rodriguez  and  five  of  la 
Garda.  Two  of  them  stayed  behind  with  Morano, 
undecided  as  yet  which  way  to  take,  though  looking 


44  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

wistfully  the  way  that  that  wine  was  said  to  be;  and 
Rodriguez  left  Morano  to  his  own  devices,  in  which 
he  trusted  profoundly. 

Now  Rodriguez  knew  not  the  name  of  the  next 
village  that  they  would  come  to  nor  the  names  of 
any  of  the  dwellers  in  it. 

Yet  he  had  a  plan.  As  he  went  by  the  side  of  one 
of  the  horses  he  questioned  the  rider. 

"Can  Morano  write  ?"  he  said.    La  Garda  laughed. 

*'Can  Morano  talk  Latin?"  he  said.  La  Garda 
crossed  themselves,  all  five  men.  And  after  some 
while  of  riding,  and  hard  walking  for  Rodriguez,  to 
whom  they  allowed  a  hand  on  a  stirrup  leather,  there 
came  in  sight  the  tops  of  the  brown  roofs  of  a  village 
over  a  fold  of  the  plain.  "Is  this  your  village?"  said 
one  of  his  captors. 

"Surely,"  answered  Rodriguez. 

"What  is  its  name?"  said  one. 

"It  has  many  names,"  said  Rodriguez. 

And  then  another  one  of  them  recognised  it  from 
the  shape  of  its  roofs.  "It  is  Saint  Judas-not- 
Iscariot,"  he  said. 

"Aye,  so  strangers  call  it,"  said  Rodriguez. 

And  where  the  road  turned  round  that  fold  of  the 
plain,  lolling  a  little  to  its  left  in  the  idle  Spanish 
air,  they  came  upon  the  village  all  in  view.  I  do  not 
know  how  to  describe  this  village  to  you,  my  reader, 
for  the  words  that  mean  to  you  what  it  was  are  all 
the  wrong  words  to  use.  "Antique,"  "old-world," 
"quaint,"  seem  words  with  which  to  tell  of  it.  Yet 
it  had  no  antiquity  denied  to  the  other  villages;  it 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  45 

had  been  brought  to  birth  like  them  by  the  passing 
of  time,  and  was  nursed  Hke  them  in  the  lap  of  plains 
or  valleys  of  Spain.  Nor  was  it  quainter  than  any 
of  its  neighbours,  though  it  was  like  itself  alone,  as 
they  had  their  characters  also ;  and,  though  no  village 
in  the  world  was  like  it,  it  differed  only  from  the 
next  as  sister  differs  from  sister.  To  those  that 
dwelt  in  it,  it  was  wholly  apart  from  all  the  world 
of  man. 

Most  of  its  tall  white  houses  with  green  doors 
were  gathered  about  the  market-place,  in  which  were 
pigeons  and  smells  and  declining  sunlight,  as  Rodri- 
guez and  his  escort  came  towards  it,  and  from  round 
a  corner  at  the  back  of  it  the  short,  repeated  song 
of  one  who  would  sell  a  commodity  went  up 
piercingly. 

This  was  all  very  long  ago.  Time  has  wrecked 
that  village  now.  Centuries  have  flowed  over  it,  some 
stormily,  some  smoothly,  but  so  many  that,  of  the 
village  Rodriguez  saw,  there  can  be  now  no  more 
than  wreckage.  For  all  I  know  a  village  of  that  name 
may  stand  on  that  same  plain,  but  the  Saint  Judas- 
not-Iscariot  that  Rodriguez  knew  is  gone  like  youth. 

Queerly  tiled,  sheltered  by  small  dense  trees,  and 
standing  a  little  apart,  Rodriguez  recognised  the 
house  of  the  Priest.  He  recognised  it  by  a  certain 
air  it  had.  Thither  he  pointed  and  la  Garda  rode. 
Again  he  spoke  to  them.  "Can  Morano  speak 
Latin?"  he  said. 

"God  forbid!"  said  la  Garda. 

They  dismounted  and  opened  a   gate   that   was 


46  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

gilded  all  over,  in  a  low  wall  of  round  boulders.  They 
went  up  a  narrow  path  between  thick  ilices  and 
came  to  the  green  door.  They  pulled  a  bell  whose 
handle  was  a  symbol  carved  in  copper,  one  of  the 
Priest's  mysteries.  The  bell  boomed  through  the 
house,  a  tiny  musical  boom,  and  the  Priest  opened 
the  door;  and  Rodriguez  addressed  him  in  Latin. 
And  the  Priest  answered  him. 

At  first  la  Garda  had  not  realised  what  had 
happened.  And  then  the  Priest  beckoned  and  they 
all  entered  his  house,  for  Rodriguez  had  asked  him 
for  ink.  Into  a  room  they  came  where  a  silver  ink- 
pot was,  and  the  grey  plume  of  the  goose.  Picture 
no  such  ink-pot,  my  reader,  as  they  sell  to-day  in 
shops,  the  silver  no  thicker  than  paper,  and  perhaps 
a  pattern  all  over  it  guaranteed  artistic.  It  was 
molten  silver  well  wrought,  and  hollowed  for  ink. 
And  in  the  hollow  there  was  the  magical  fluid,  the 
stuff  that  rules  the  world  and  hinders  time;  that 
in  which  flows  the  will  of  a  king,  to  establish  his  laws 
for  ever ;  that  which  gives  valleys  unto  new  posses- 
sors; that  whereby  towers  are  held  by  their  lawful 
owners ;  that  which,  used  grimly  by  the  King's  judge, 
is  death;  that  which,  when  poets  play,  is  mirth  for 
ever  and  ever. 

No  wonder  la  Garda  looked  at  it  in  awe,  no  wonder 
they  crossed  themselves  again:  and  then  Rodriguez 
wrote. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  jaws  of  la  Garda 
dropped,  while  the  old  Priest  slightly  smiled,  for  he 
somewhat  divined  the  situation  already;  and,  being 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  47 

the  people's   friend,  he  loved  not  la  Gar  da  more 
than  he  was  bound  by  the  rules  of  his  duty  to  man. 

Then  one  of  la  Garda  spoke,  bringing  back  his 
confidence  with  a  bluster.  "Morano  has  sold  his 
soul  to  Satan,"  he  said,  "in  exchange  for  Satan's  aid, 
and  Satan  has  taught  his  tongue  Latin  and  guides  his 
fingers  in  the  affairs  of  the  pen."  And  so  said  all 
la  Garda,  rejoicing  at  finding  an  explanation  where 
a  moment  ago  there  was  none,  as  all  men  at  such 
times  do :  little  it  matters  what  the  explanation  be : 
does  a  man  in  Sahara,  who  finds  water  suddenly,  in- 
quire with  precision  what  its  qualities  are  ? 

And  then  the  Priest  said  a  word  and  made  a  sign, 
against  which  Satan  himself  can  only  prevail  with 
difficulty,  and  in  presence  of  which  his  spells  can 
never  endure.  And  after  this  Rodriguez  wrote  again. 
Then  were  la  Garda  silent. 

And  at  length  the  leader  said,  and  he  called  on 
them  all  to  testify,  that  he  had  made  no  charge 
whatever  against  this  traveller;  moreover,  they  had 
escorted  him  on  his  way  out  of  respect  for  him, 
because  the  roads  were  dangerous,  and  must  now 
depart  because  they  had  higher  duties.  So  la  Garda 
departed,  looking  before  them  with  stern,  preoccu- 
pied faces  and  urging  their  horses  on,  as  men  who  go 
on  an  errand  of  great  urgency.  And  Rodriguez,  hav- 
ing thanked  them  for  their  protection  upon  the  road, 
turned  back  into  the  house  and  the  two  sat  down 
together,  and  Rodriguez  told  his  rescuer  the  story 
of  the  hospitality  of  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight. 


48  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Not  as  confession  he  told  it,  but  as  a  pleasant  tale, 
for  he  looked  on  the  swift  demise  of  la  Garda's 
friend,  in  the  night,  in  the  spidery  room,  as  a  fair 
blessing  for  Spain,  a  thing  most  suited  to  the  sweet 
days  of  Spring.  The  spiritual  man  rejoiced  to  hear 
such  a  tale,  as  do  all  men  of  peace  to  hear  talk  of 
violent  deeds  in  which  they  may  not  share.  And 
when  the  tale  was  ended  he  reproved  Rodriguez  ex- 
ceedingly, explaining  to  him  the  nature  of  the  sin  of 
blood,  and  telling  him  that  absolution  could  be  come 
by  now,  though  hardly,  but  how  on  some  future  oc- 
casion there  might  be  none  to  be  had.  And  Rodri- 
guez listened  with  all  the  gravity  of  expression  that 
youth  knows  well  how  to  wear  while  its  thoughts  are 
nimbly  dancing  far  away  in  fair  fields  of  adventure 
or  love. 

And  darkness  came  down  and  lamps  were  carried 
in :  and  the  reverend  father  asked  Rodriguez  in  what 
other  affairs  of  violence  his  sword  had  unhappily 
been.  And  Rodriguez  knew  well  the  history  of  that 
sword,  having  gathered  all  that  concerned  it  out  of 
spoken  legend  or  song.  And  although  the  reverend 
man  frowned  minatorily  whenever  he  heard  of  its 
passings  through  the  ribs  of  the  faithful,  and  nodded 
as  though  his  head  gave  benediction  when  he  heard 
of  the  destruction  of  God's  most  vile  enemy  the  in- 
fidel, and  though  he  gasped  a  little  through  his  lips 
when  he  heard  of  certain  tarryings  of  that  sword,  in 
scented  gardens,  while  Christian  knights  should  sleep 
and  their  swords  hang  on  the  wall,  though  sometimes 
even  a  little  he  raised  his  hands,  yet  he  leaned  for- 


A  MEMORABLE  SERVANT  49 

ward  always,  listening  well,  and  picturing  clearly  as 
though  his  gleaming  eyes  could  see  them,  each  dole- 
ful tale  of  violence  or  sin.  And  so  night  came,  and 
began  to  wear  away,  and  neither  knew  how  late  the 
hour  was.  And  then  as  Rodriguez  spoke  of  an  even- 
ing in  a  garden,  of  which  some  old  song  told  well, 
a  night  in  early  summer  under  the  evening  star,  and 
that  sword  there  as  always ;  as  he  told  of  his  grand- 
father as  poets  had  loved  to  tell,  going  among  the 
scents  of  the  huge  flowers,  familiar  with  the  dark 
garden  as  the  moths  that  drifted  by  him ;  as  he  spoke 
of  a  sigh  heard  faintly,  as  he  spoke  of  danger  near, 
whether  to  body  or  soul ;  as  the  reverend  father  was 
about  to  raise  both  his  hands;  there  came  a  thunder 
of  knockings  upon  the  locked  green  door. 


THE    THIRD    CHRONICLE 


51 


THE  THIRD  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE  CAME   TO   THE   HOUSE  OF  WONDER 

IT  was  the  gross  Morano.  Hefe  he  had  tracked 
Rodriguez,  for  where  la  Garda  goes  is  always 
known,  and  rumour  of  it  remains  long  behind  them, 
like  the  scent  of  a  fox.  He  told  no  tale  of  his  escape 
more  than  a  dog  does  who  comes  home  some  hours 
late;  a  dog  comes  back  to  his  master,  that  is  all, 
panting  a  little  perhaps ;  someone  perhaps  had  caught 
him  and  he  escaped  and  came  home,  a  thing  too 
natural  to  attempt  to  speak  of  by  any  of  the  signs 
that  a  dog  knows. 

Part  of  Morano's  method  seems  to  have  resembled 
Rodriguez',  for  just  as  Rodriguez  spoke  Latin,  so 
Morano  fell  back  upon  his  own  natural  speech, 
that  he  as  it  were  unbridled  and  allowed  to  run  free, 
the  coarseness  of  which  had  at  first  astounded,  and 
then  delighted,  la  Garda. 

"And  did  they  not  suspect  that  you  were  your- 
self?" said  Rodriguez. 

"No,  master,"  Morano  answered,  "for  I  said  that 
I  was  the  brother  of  the  King  of  Aragon." 

53 


54  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"The  King  of  Aragon!"  Rodriguez  said,  going  to 
the  length  of  showing  surprise. 

"Yes,  indeed,  master,"  said  Morano,  "and  they 
recognised  me." 

"Recognised  you!"  exclaimed  the  Priest. 

"Indeed  so,"  said  Morano,  "for  they  said  that  they 
were  themselves  the  Kings  of  Aragon;  and  so, 
father,  they  recognised  me  for  their  brother." 

"That  you  should  not  have  said,"  the  Priest  told 
Morano. 

"Reverend  father,"  replied  Morano,  "as  Heaven 
shines,  I  believed  that  what  I  said  was  true."  And 
Morano  sighed  deeply.  "And  now,"  he  said,  "I 
know  it  is  true  no  more." 

Whether  he  sighed  for  the  loss  of  his  belief  in 
that  exalted  relationship,  or  whether  for  the  loss  of 
that  state  of  mind  in  which  such  beliefs  come  easily, 
there  was  nothing  in  his  sigh  to  show.  They  ques- 
tioned him  further,  but  he  said  no  more:  he  was 
here,  there  was  no  more  to  say :  he  was  here  and  la 
Garda  was  gone. 

And  then  the  reverend  man  brought  for  them  a 
great  supper,  even  at  that  late  hour,  for  many  an 
hour  had  slipped  softly  by  as  he  heard  the  sins  of  the 
sword ;  and  wine  he  set  out,  too,  of  a  certain  golden 
vintage,  long  lost — I  fear — my  reader:  but  this  he 
s:ave  not  to  Morano  lest  he  should  be  once  more, 
what  the  reverend  father  feared  to  entertain,  that 
dread  hidalgo,  the  King  of  Aragon's  brother.  And 
after  that,  the  stars  having  then  gone  far  on  their 
ways,   the  old   Priest   rose  and   offered  a  bed  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  55 

Rodriguez ;  and  even  as  he  eyed  Morano,  wondering 
where  to  put  him,  and  was  about  to  speak,  for  he 
had  no  other  bed,  Morano  went  to  a  corner  of  the 
room  and  curled  up  and  lay  down.  And  by  the  time 
his  host  had  walked  over  to  him  and  spoken,  asking 
anxiously  if  he  needed  nothing  more,  he  was  almost 
already  asleep,  and  muttered  in  answer,  after  having 
been  spoken  to  twice,  no  more  than  "Straw,  reverend 
father,  straw." 

An  armful  of  this  the  good  man  brought  him, 
and  then  showed  Rodriguez  to  his  room;  and  they 
can  scarcely  have  reached  it  before  Morano  was  back 
in  Aragon  again,  walking  on  golden  shoes  (which 
were  sometimes  wings),  proud  among  lesser  princes. 

As  precaution  for  the  night  Rodriguez  took  one 
more  glance  at  his  host's  kind  face;  and  then,  with 
sword  out  of  reach  and  an  unlocked  door,  he  slept 
till  the  songs  of  birds  out  of  the  deeps  of  the  ilices 
made  sleep  any  longer  impossible. 

The  third  morning  of  Rodriguez'  wandering 
blazed  over  Spain  like  brass;  flowers  and  grass  and 
sky  were  twinkling  all  together. 

When  Rodriguez  greeted  his  host  Morano  was 
long  astir,  having  awakened  with  dawn,  for  the  sim- 
pler and  humbler  the  creature  the  nearer  it  is  akin 
to  the  earth  and  the  sun.  The  forces  that  woke  the 
birds  and  opened  the  flowers  stirred  the  gross  lump 
of  Morano,  ending  his  sleep  as  they  ended  the  night- 
ingale's song. 

They  breakfasted  hurriedly  and  Rodriguez  rose  to 
depart,  feeling  that  he  had  taken  hospitality  that  had 


56  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

not  been  offered.  But  against  his  departure  was  the 
barrier  of  all  the  poHteness  of  Spain.  The  house 
was  his,  said  his  host,  and  even  the  small  grove  of 
ilices. 

If  I  told  you  half  of  the  things  that  the  reverend 
man  said,  you  would  say :  "This  writer  is  affected, 
I  do  not  like  all  this  flowery  mush."  I  think  it  safer, 
my  reader,  not  to  tell  you  any  of  it.  Let  us  suppose 
that  he  merely  said,  "Quite  all  right,"  and  that  when 
Rodriguez  thanked  him  on  one  knee  he  answered, 
"Not  at  all;"  and  that  so  Rodriguez  and  Morano 
left.  If  here  it  miss  some  flash  of  the  fair  form  of 
Truth  it  is  the  fault  of  the  age  I  write  for. 

The  road  again,  dust  again,  birds  and  the  blaze  of 
leaves,  these  were  the  background  of  my  wanderers, 
until  the  eye  had  gone  as  far  as  the  eye  can  roam, 
and  there  were  the  tips  of  some  far  pale-blue  moun- 
tains that  now  came  into  view. 

They  were  still  in  each  other's  clothes;  but  the 
village  was  not  behind  them  very  far  when  Morano 
explained,  for  he  knew  the  ways  of  la  Garda,  that 
having  arrested  two  men  upon  this  road,  they  would 
now  arrest  two  men  each  on  all  the  other  roads,  in 
order  to  show  the  impartiality  of  the  Law,  which 
constantly  needs  to  be  exhibited;  and  that  therefore 
all  men  were  safe  on  the  road  they  were  on  for  a 
long  while  to  come. 

Now  there  seemed  to  Rodriguez  to  be  much  good 
sense  in  what  Morano  had  said ;  and  so  indeed  there 
was  for  they  had  good  laws  in  Spain,  and  they 
differed  little,  though  so  long  ago,  from  our  own 


V 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  57 

excellent  system.  Therefore  they  changed  once 
more,  giving  back  to  each  other  everything  but,  alas, 
those  delicate  black  moustachios;  and  these  to 
Rodriguez  seemed  gone  for  ever,  for  the  growth 
of  new  ones  seemed  so  far  ahead  to  the  long  days 
of  youth  that  his  hopes  could  scarce  reach  to  them. 

When  Morano  found  himself  once  more  in  those 
clothes  that  had  been  with  him  night  and  day  for 
so  many  years  he  seemed  to  expand;  I  mean  no 
metaphor  here;  he  grew  visibly  fatter. 

"Ah,"  said  Morano  after  a  huge  breath,  "last 
night  I  dreamed,  in  your  illustrious  clothes,  that  I 
was  in  lofty  station.  And  now,  master,  I  am 
comfortable." 

"Which  were  best,  think  you,"  said  Rodriguez, 
"if  you  could  have  but  one,  a  lofty  place  or  com- 
fort ?"  Even  in  those  days  such  a  question  was  trite, 
but  Rodriguez  uttered  it  only  thinking  to  dip  in  the 
store  of  Morano's  simple  wisdom,  as  one  may  throw 
a  mere  worm  to  catch  a  worthy  fish.  But  in  this  he 
was  disappointed;  for  Morano  made  no  neat  com- 
parison nor  even  gave  an  opinion,  saying  only, 
"Master,  while  I  have  comfort  how  shall  I  judge 
the  case  of  any  who  have  not?"  And  no  more 
would  he  say.  His  new  found  comfort,  lost  for  a 
day  and  night,  seemed  so  to  have  soothed  his  body 
that  it  closed  the  gates  of  the  mind,  as  too  much 
luxury  may,  even  with  poets. 

And  now  Rodriguez  thought  of  his  quest  again, 
and  the  two  of  them  pushed  on  briskly  to  find  the 
wars. 


58  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

For  an  hour  they  walked  in  silence  an  empty  road. 
And  then  they  came  upon  a  row  of  donkeys;  piled 
high  with  the  bark  of  the  cork-tree,  that  men  were 
bringing  slowly  from  far  woods.  Some  of  the  men 
were  singing  as  they  went.  They  passed  slow  in  the 
sunshine. 

"Oh,  master,"  said  Morano  when  they  were  gone, 
"I  like  not  that  lascivious  loitering." 

"Why,  Morano?"  said  Rodriguez.  "It  was  not 
God  that  made  hurry." 

"Master,"  answered  Morano,  "I  know  well  who 
made  hurry.  And  may  he  not  overtake  my  soul  at 
the  last.  Yet  it  is  bad  for  our  fortunes  that  these 
men  should  loiter  thus.  You  want  your  castle, 
master;  and  I,  I  want  not  always  to  wander  roads, 
with  la  Garda  perhaps  behind  and  no  certain  place 
to  curl  up  and  sleep  in  front.  I  look  for  a  heap  of 
straw  in  the  cellar  of  your  great  castle." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  shall  have  it,"  his  master  said, 
"but  how  do  these  folks  hinder  you?"  For  Morano 
was  scowling  at  them  over  his  shoulder  in  a  way  that 
was  somehow  spoiling  the  gladness  of  Spring. 

"The  air  is  full  of  their  singing,"  Morano  said. 
"It  is  as  though  their  souls  were  already  flying  to 
Hell,  and  cawing  hoarse  with  sin  all  the  way  as  they 
go.  And  they  loiter,  and  they  linger  .  .  ."  Oh,  but 
Morano  was  angry. 

"But,"  said  Rodriguez,  'how  does  their  lingering 
harm  you?" 

"Where  are  the  wars,  master?  Where  are  the 
wars?"   blurted   Morano,   his   round    face   turning 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  59 

redder.  "The  donkeys  would  be  dead,  the  men 
would  be  running,  there  would  be  shouts,  cries,  and 
confusion,  if  the  wars  were  anywhere  near.  There 
would  be  all  things  but  this." 

The  men  strolled  on  singing  and  so  passed  slow 
into  distance.  Morano  was  right,  though  I  know 
not  how  he  knew. 

And  now  the  men  and  the  donkeys  were  nearly 
out  of  sight,  but  had  not  yet  at  all  emerged  from 
the  wrath  of  Morano.  "Lascivious  knaves,"  mut- 
tered that  disappointed  man.  And  whenever  he 
faintly  heard  dim  snatches  of  their  far  song  that  a 
breeze  here,  and  another  there,  brought  over  the 
plain  as  it  ran  on  the  errands  of  Spring,  he  cursed 
their  sins  under  his  breath.  Though  it  seemed  not 
so  much  their  sins  that  moved  his  wrath  as  the 
leisure  they  had  for  committing  them. 

"Peace,  peace,  Morano,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"It  is  that,"  said  Morano,  "that  is  troubling  me." 

"What?" 

"This  same  peace." 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "I  had  when  young 
to  study  the  affairs  of  men;  and  this  is  put  into 
books,  and  so  they  make  history.  Now  I  learned 
that  there  is  no  thing  in  which  men  have  taken  de- 
light, that  is  ever  put  away  from  them;  for  it  seems 
that  time,  which  altereth  every  custom,  hath  altered 
none  of  our  likings :  and  in  every  chapter  they  taught 
me  there  were  these  wars  to  be  found." 

"Master,  the  times  are  altered,"  said  Morano 
sadly.    "It  is  not  now  as  in  old  days." 


6o  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

And  this  was  not  the  wisdom  of  Morano,  for 
anger  had  clouded  his  judgment.  And  a  faint  song 
came  yet  from  the  donkey-drivers,  wavering  over 
the  flowers. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "there  are  men  like  those 
vile  sin-mongers,  who  have  taken  delight  in  peace. 
It  may  be  that  peace  has  been  brought  upon  the 
world  by  one  of  these  lousy  likings." 

"The  delight  of  peace,"  said  Rodriguez,  "is  in  its 
contrast  to  war.  If  war  were  banished  this  delight 
were  gone.  And  man  lost  none  of  his  delights  in 
any  chapter  I  read." 

The  word  and  the  meaning  of  contrast  were  such 
as  is  understood  by  reflective  minds,  the  product  of 
education.  Morano  felt  rather  than  reflected;  and 
the  word  contrast  meant  nothing  to  him.  This  ended 
their  conversation.  And  the  songs  of  the  donkey- 
drivers,  light  though  they  were,  being  too  heavy  to 
be  carried  farther  by  the  idle  air  of  Spring,  Morano 
ceased  cursing  their  sins. 

And  now  the  mountains  rose  up  taller,  seeming  to 
stretch  themselves  and  raise  their  heads.  In  a  while 
they  seemed  to  be  peering  over  the  plain.  They  that 
were  as  pale  ghosts,  far  off,  dim  like  Fate,  in  the 
early  part  of  the  morning,  now  appeared  darker, 
more  furrowed,  more  sinister,  more  careworn ;  more 
immediately  concerned  with  the  affairs  of  Earth, 
and  so  more  menacing  to  earthly  things. 

Still  they  went  on  and  still  the  mountains  grew. 
And  noon  came,  when  Spain  sleeps. 

And  now  the  plain  was  altering,  as  though  cool 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  6i 

winds  from  the  mountains  brought  other  growths  to 
birth,  so  that  they  met  with  bushes  straggHng  wild; 
free,  careless  and  mysterious,  as  they  do,  where  there 
is  none  to  teach  great  Nature  how  to  be  tidy. 

The  wanderers  chose  a  clump  of  these  that  were 
gathered  near  the  way,  like  gypsies  camped  awhile 
midway  on  a  wonderful  journey,  who  at  dawn  will 
rise  and  go,  leaving  but  a  bare  trace  of  their  resting 
and  no  guess  of  their  destiny;  so  fairy-like,  so  free, 
so  phantasmal  those  dark  shrubs  seemed. 

Morano  lay  down  on  the  very  edge  of  the  shade 
of  one,  and  Rodriguez  lay  fair  in  the  midst  of  the 
shade  of  another,  whereby  anyone  passing  that  way 
would  have  known  which  was  the  older  traveller. 
Morano,  according  to  his  custom,  was  asleep  almost 
immediately;  but  Rodriguez,  with  wonder  and  spec- 
ulation each  toying  with  novelty  and  pulling  it 
diflFerent  ways  between  them,  stayed  awhile  wakeful. 
Then  he  too  slept,  and  a  bird  thought  it  safe  to  re- 
turn to  an  azalea  of  its  own;  which  it  lately  fled 
from  troubled  by  the  arrival  of  these  two. 

And  Rodriguez  the  last  to  sleep  was  the  first 
awake,  for  the  shade  of  the  shrub  left  him,  and  he 
awoke  in  the  blaze  of  the  sun  to  see  Morano  still 
sheltered,  well  in  the  middle  now  of  the  shadow  he 
chose.  The  gross  sleep  of  Morano  I  will  not  de- 
scribe to  you,  reader.  I  have  chosen  a  pleasant  tale 
for  you  in  a  happy  land,  in  the  fairest  time  of  year, 
in  a  golden  age :  I  have  youth  to  show  you  and  an 
ancient  sword,  birds,  flowers  and  sunlight,  in  a  plain 
unharmed  by  any  dream  of  commerce:  why  should 


62  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

I  show  you  the  sleep  of  that  inelegant  man  whose 
bulk  lay  cumbering  the  earth  like  a  low,  unseemly 
mountain  ? 

Rodriguez  overtook  the  shade  he  had  lost  and  lay 
there  resting  until  Morano  awoke,  driven  all  at  once 
from  sleep  by  a  dream  or  by  mere  choking.  Then 
from  the  intricacies  of  his  clothing,  which  to  him 
after  those  two  days  was  what  home  is  to  some  far 
wanderer,  Morano  drew  out  once  more  a  lump  of 
bacon.  Then  came  the  fry-pan  and  then  a  fire: 
it  was  the  Wanderers'  Mess.  That  mess-room  has 
stood  in  many  lands  and  has  only  one  roof.  We  are 
proud  of  that  roof,  all  we  who  belong  to  that  Mess. 
We  boast  of  it  when  we  show  it  to  our  friends  when 
it  is  all  set  out  at  night.  It  has  Aldebaran  in  it,  the 
Bear  and  Orion,  and  at  the  other  end  the  Southern 
Cross.  Yes  we  are  proud  of  our  roof  when  it  is  at 
its  best. 

What  am  I  saying?  I  should  be  talking  of  bacon. 
Yes,  but  there  is  a  way  of  cooking  it  in  our  Mess  that 
I  want  to  tell  you  and  cannot.  I've  tasted  bacon 
there  that  isn't  the  same  as  what  you  get  at  the  Ritz. 
And  I  want  to  tell  you  how  that  bacon  tastes ;  and  I 
can't  so  I  talk  about  stars.  But  perhaps  you  are 
one  of  us,  reader,  and  then  you  will  understand. 
Only  why  the  hell  don't  we  get  back  there  again 
where  the  Evening  Star  swings  low  on  the  wall  of 
the  Mess? 

When  they  rose  from  table,  when  they  got  up 
from  the  earth,  and  the  fr>nng-pan  was  slung  on 
Morano's  back,  adding  grease  to  the  mere  surface 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  63 

of  his  coat  whose  texture  could  hold  no  more,  they 
pushed  on  briskly  for  they  saw  no  sign  of  houses, 
unless  what  Rodriguez  saw  now  dimly  above  a 
ravine  were  indeed  a  house  in  the  mountains. 

They  had  walked  from  eight  till  noon  without  any 
loitering.  They  must  have  done  fifteen  miles  since 
the  mountains  were  pale  blue.  And  now,  every  mile 
they  went,  on  the  most  awful  of  the  dark  ridges 
the  object  Rodriguez  saw  seemed  more  and  more 
like  a  house.  Yet  neither  then,  nor  as  they  drew  still 
nearer,  nor  when  they  saw  it  close,  nor  looking  back 
on  it  after  years,  did  it  somehow  seem  quite  right. 
And  Morano  sometimes  crossed  himself  as  he  looked 
at  it,  and  said  nothing. 

Rodriguez,  as  they  walked  ceaselessly  through  the 
afternoon,  seeing  his  servant  show  some  sign  of 
weariness,  which  comes  not  to  youth,  pointed  out  the 
house  looking  nearer  than  it  really  was  on  the 
mountain,  and  told  him  that  he  should  find  there 
straw,  and  they  would  sup  and  stay  the  night.  After- 
wards, when  the  strange  appearance  of  the  house, 
varying  with  different  angles,  filled  him  with  curious 
forebodings,  Rodriguez  would  make  no  admission  to 
his  servant,  but  held  to  the  plan  he  had  announced, 
and  so  approached  the  queer  roofs,  neglecting  the 
friendly  stars. 

Through  the  afternoon  the  two  travellers  pushed 
on  mostly  in  silence,  for  the  glances  that  house 
seemed  to  give  him  from  the  edge  of  its  perilons 
ridge,  had  driven  the  mirth  from  Rodriguez  and  had 
even  checked  the  garrulity  on  the  lips  of  the  tougher 


64  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Morano,  if  garrulity  can  be  ascribed  to  him  whose 
words  seldom  welled  up  unless  some  simple  philoso- 
phy troubled  his  deeps.  The  house  seemed  indeed  to 
glance  at  him,  for  as  their  road  wound  on,  the  house 
showed  different  aspects,  different  walls  and  edges 
of  walls,  and  different  curious  roofs;  all  these  walls 
seemed  to  peer  at  him.  One  after  another  they 
peered,  new  ones  glided  imperceptibly  into  sight  as 
though  to  say.  We  see  too. 

The  mountains  were  not  before  them  but  a  little 
to  the  right  of  their  path,  until  new  ones  appeared 
ahead  of  them  like  giants  arising  from  sleep,  and 
then  their  path  seemed  blocked  as  though  by  a 
mighty  wall  against  which  its  feeble  wanderings 
went  in  vain.  In  the  end  it  turned  a  bit  to  its  right 
and  went  straight  for  a  dark  mountain,  where  a  wild 
track  seemed  to  come  down  out  of  the  rocks  to  meet 
it,  and  upon  this  track  looked  down  that  sinister 
house.  Had  you  been  there,  my  reader,  you  would 
have  said,  any  of  us  had  said,  Why  not  choose  some 
other  house  ?  There  were  no  other  houses.  He  who 
dwelt  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine  that  ran  into  that 
dark  mountain  was  wholly  without  neighbours. 

And  evening  came,  and  still  they  were  far  from 
the  mountain. 

The  sun  set  on  their  left.  But  it  was  in  the 
eastern  sky  that  the  greater  splendour  was;  for  the 
low  rays  streaming  across  lit  up  some  stormy  clouds 
that  were  brooding  behind  the  mountain  and  turned 
their  gloomy  forms  to  an  astounding  purple. 

And  after  this  their  road  began  to  rise  toward  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  65 

ridges.  The  mountains  darkened  and  the  sinister 
house  was  about  to  emerge  with  their  shadows,  when 
he  who  dwelt  there  Ht  candles. 

The  act  astonished  the  wayfarers.  All  through 
half  the  day  they  had  seen  the  house,  until  it  seemed 
part  of  the  mountains;  evil  it  seemed  like  their 
ridges,  that  were  black  and  bleak  and  forbidding,  and 
strange  it  seemed  with  a  strangeness  that  moved  no 
fears  they  could  name,  yet  it  seemed  inactive  as  night. 
Now  lights  appeared  showing  that  someone 
moved.  Window  after  window  showed  to  the  bare 
dark  mountain  its  gleaming  yellow  glare ;  there  in  the 
night  the  house  forsook  the  dark  rocks  that  seemed 
kin  to  it,  by  glowing  as  they  could  never  glow,  by 
doing  what  the  beasts  that  haunted  them  could  not 
do :  this  was  the  lair  of  man.  Here  was  the  light  of 
flame  but  the  rocks  remained  dark  and  cold  as  the 
wind  of  night  that  went  over  them,  he  who  dwelt 
now  with  the  lights  had  forsaken  the  rocks,  his 
neighbours. 

And,  when  all  were  lit,  one  light  high  in  a  tower 
shone  green.  These  lights  appearing  out  of  the 
mountain  thus  seemed  to  speak  to  Rodriguez  and  to 
tell  him  nothing.  And  Morano  wondered,  as  he 
seldom  troubled  to  do. 

They  pushed  on  up  the  steepening  path. 
"Like  you  the  looks  of  it?"  said  Rodriguez  once. 
"Aye,  master,"  answered  Morano,  "so  there  be 
straw." 

"You  see  nothing  strange  there,  then?"  Rodriguez 
said 


66  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "there  be  saints  for  all 
requirements." 

Any  fears  he  had  felt  about  that  house  before, 
now  as  he  neared  it  were  gone;  it  was  time  to  put 
away  fears  and  face  the  event;  thus  worked  Mo- 
rano's  philosophy.  And  he  turned  his  thoughts  to 
the  achievements  upon  earth  of  a  certain  Saint  who 
met  Satan,  and  showed  to  the  sovereign  of  Hell  a 
discourtesy  alien  to  the  ways  of  the  Church. 

It  was  dark  now,  and  the  yellow  lights  got  larger 
as  they  drew  nearer  the  windows,  till  they  saw  large 
shadows  obscurely  passing  from  room  to  room.  The 
ascent  was  steep  now  and  the  pathway  stopped.  No 
track  of  any  kind  approached  the  house.  It  stood  on 
a  precipice-edge  as  though  one  of  the  rocks  of  the 
mountain :  they  climbed  over  rocks  to  reach  it.  The 
windows  flickered  and  blinked  at  them. 

Nothing  invited  them  there  in  the  look  of  that 
house,  but  they  were  now  in  such  a  forbidding  waste 
that  shelter  had  to  be  found;  they  were  all  among 
edges  of  rock  as  black  as  the  night  and  hard  as  the 
material  of  which  Cosmos  was  formed,  at  first  upon 
Chaos'  brink.  The  sound  of  their  climbing  ran 
noisily  up  the  mountain  but  no  sound  came  from 
the  house :  only  the  shadows  moved  more  swiftly 
across  a  room,  passed  into  other  rooms  and  came 
hurrying  back.  Sometimes  the  shadows  stayed  and 
seemed  to  peer;  and  when  the  travellers  stood  and 
watched  to  see  what  they  were  they  would  disappear 
and  there  were  no  shadows  at  all,  and  the  rooms  were 
filled    instead    with    their    wondering    speculation. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  67 

Then  they  pushed  on  over  rocks  that  seemed  never 
trodden  by  man,  so  sharp  were  they  and  slanting,  all 
piled  together :  it  seemed  the  last  waste,  to  which  all 
shapeless  rocks  had  been  thrown. 

Morano  and  these  black  rocks  seemed  shaped  by  a 
different  scheme;  indeed  the  rocks  had  never  been 
shaped  at  all,  they  were  just  raw  pieces  of  Chaos. 
Morano  climbed  over  their  edges  with  moans  and 
discomfort.  Rodriguez  heard  him  behind  him  and 
knew  by  his  moans  when  he  came  to  the  top  of  each 
sharp  rock. 

The  rocks  became  savager,  huger,  even  more 
sharp  and  more  angular.  They  were  there  in  the 
dark  in  multitudes.  Over  these  Rodriguez  stag- 
gered, and  Morano  clambered  and  tumbled;  and  so 
they  came,  breathing  hard,  to  the  lonely  house. 

In  the  wall  that  their  hands  had  reached  there  was 
no  door,  so  they  felt  along  it  till  they  came  to  the 
comer,  and  beyond  the  corner  was  the  front  wall  of 
the  house.  In  it  was  the  front  door.  But  so  nearly 
did  this  door  open  upon  the  abyss  that  the  bats  that 
fled  from  their  coming,  from  where  they  hung  above 
the  door  of  oak,  had  little  more  to  do  than  fall  from 
their  crannies,  slanting  ever  so  slightly,  to  find  them- 
selves safe  from  man  in  the  velvet  darkness,  that  lay 
between  cliffs  so  lonely  they  were  almost  strangers  to 
Echo.  And  here  they  floated  upon  errands  far  from 
our  knowledge;  while  the  travellers  coming  along 
the  rocky  ledge  between  destruction  and  shelter, 
knocked  on  the  oaken  door. 

The  sound  of  their  knocking  boomed  huge  and 


68  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

slow  through  the  house  as  though  they  had  struck 
the  door  of  the  very  mountain.  And  no  one  came. 
And  then  Rodriguez  saw  dimly  in  the  darkness  the 
great  handle  of  a  bell,  carved  like  a  dragon  running 
down  the  wall :  he  pulled  it  and  a  cry  of  pain  arose 
from  the  basement  of  the  house. 

Even  Morano  wondered.  It  was  like  a  terrible 
spirit  in  distress.  It  was  long  before  Rodriguez  dare 
touch  the  handle  again.  Could  it  have  been  the  bell  ? 
He  felt  the  iron  handle  and  the  iron  chain  that  went 
up  from  it.  How  could  it  have  been  the  bell !  The 
bell  had  not  sounded :  he  had  not  pulled  hard 
enough:  that  scream  was  fortuitous.  The  night 
on  that  rocky  ledge  had  jangled  his  nerves.  He  pulled 
again  and  more  firmly.  The  answering  scream 
was  more  terrible.  Rodriguez  could  doubt  no  longer, 
as  he  sprang  back  from  the  bell-handle,  that  with 
the  chain  he  had  pulled  he  inflicted  some  unknown 
agony. 

The  scream  had  awakened  slow  steps  that  now 
came  towards  the  travellers,  down  corridors,  as  it 
sounded,  of  stone.  And  then  chains  fell  on  stone 
and  the  door  of  oak  was  opened  by  some  one  older 
than  what  man  hopes  to  come  to,  with  small,  peaked 
lips  as  those  of  some  woodland  thing. 

"Sefiores,"  the  old  one  said,  "the  Professor  wel- 
comes you." 

They  stood  and  stared  at  his  age,  and  Morano 
blurted  uncouthly  what  both  of  them  felt.  "You 
are  old,  grandfather,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  Senores,"  the  old  man  sighed,  "the  Profes- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  69 

sor  does  not  allow  me  to  be  young.  I  have  been  here 
years  and  years  but  he  never  allowed  it.  I  have 
served  him  well  but  it  is  still  the  same.  I  say  to  him, 
'Master,  I  have  served  you  long  .  .  .'  but  he  inter- 
rupts me  for  he  will  have  none  of  youth.  Young 
servants  go  among  the  villages,  he  says.  And  so, 
and  so  .  .  ." 

"You  do  not  think  your  master  can  give  you 
youth!"  said  Rodriguez. 

The  old  man  knew  that  he  had  talked  too  much, 
voicing  that  grievance  again  of  which  even  the  rocks 
were  weary.  "Yes,"  he  said  briefly,  and  bowed  and 
led  the  way  into  the  house.  In  one  of  the  corridors 
running  out  of  the  hall  down  which  he  was  leading 
silently,  Rodriguez  overtook  that  old  man  and  ques- 
tioned him  to  his  face. 

"Who  is  this  professor?"  he  said. 

By  the  light  of  a  torch  that  spluttered  in  an  iron 
clamp  on  the  wall  Rodriguez  questioned  him  with 
these  words,  and  Morano  with  his  wondering,  wist- 
ful eyes.  The  old  man  halted  and  turned  half  round, 
and  lifted  his  head  and  answered.  "In  the  Uni- 
versity of  Saragossa,"  he  said  with  pride,  "he  holds 
the  Chair  of  Magic." 

Even  the  names  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  Har- 
vard or  Yale  or  Princeton,  move  some  respect,  and 
even  yet  in  these  unlearned  days.  What  wonder  then 
that  the  name  of  Saragossa  heard  on  that  lonely 
mountain  awoke  in  Rodriguez  some  emotion  of 
reverence  and  even  awed  Morano.  As  for  the  Cliair 
of  Magic,  it  was  of  all  the  royal  endowments  of  that 


70  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

illustrious  University  the  most  honoured  and 
dreaded. 

"At  Saragossa !"  Rodriguez  muttered. 

"At  Saragossa,"  the  old  man  affirmed. 

Between  that  ancient  citadel  of  learning  and  this 
most  savage  mountain  appeared  a  gulf  scarce  to  be 
bridged  by  thought. 

"The  Professor  rests  in  his  mountain,"  the  old 
man  said,  "because  of  a  conjunction  of  the  stars 
unfavourable  to  study,  and  his  class  have  gone  to 
their  homes  for  many  weeks."  He  bowed  again  and 
led  on  along  that  corridor  of  dismal  stone.  The 
others  followed,  and  still  as  Rodriguez  went  that 
famous  name  Saragossa  echoed  within  his  mind. 

And  then  they  came  to  a  door  set  deep  in  the  stone, 
and  their  guide  opened  it  and  they  went  in;  and 
there  was  the  Professor  in  a  mystical  hat  and  a  robe 
of  dim  purple,  seated  with  his  back  to  them  at  a 
table,  studying  the  ways  of  the  stars.  "Welcome, 
Don  Rodriguez,"  said  the  Professor  before  he 
turned  round;  and  ther>  he  rose,  and  with  small 
steps  backwards  and  sideways  and  many  bows,  he 
displayed  all  those  formulae  of  politeness  that  Sara- 
gossa knew  in  the  golden  age  and  which  her  pro- 
fessors loved  to  execute.  In  later  years  they  became 
more  elaborate  still,  and  afterwards  were  lost. 

Rodriguez  replied  rather  by  instinct  than  know- 
ledge ;  he  came  of  a  house  whose  bows  had  never 
missed  graceful  ease  and  which  had  in  some  genera- 
tions been  a  joy  to  the  Court  of  Spain.  Morano 
followed  behind  him;  but  his  servile  presence  in- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  71 

truded  upon  that  elaborate  ceremony,  and  the 
Professor  held  up  his  hand,  and  Morano  was  held 
in  mid  stride  as  though  the  air  had  gripped  him. 
There  he  stood  motionless,  having  never  fek  magic 
before.  And  when  the  Professor  had  welcomed 
Rodriguez  in  a  manner  worthy  of  the  dignity  of  the 
Chair  that  he  held  at  Saragossa,  he  made  an  easy 
gesture  and  Morano  was  free  again. 

"Master,"  said  Morano  to  the  Professor,  as  soon 
as  he  found  he  could  move,  "master,  it  looks  like 
magic." 

Picture  to  yourself  some  yokel  shown  into  the 
library  of  a  professor  of  Greek  at  Oxford,  taking 
down  from  a  shelf  one  of  the  books  of  the  Odyssey, 
and  saying  to  the  Professor,  "It  looks  like  Greek" ! 

Rodriguez  felt  grieved  by  Morano's  boorish  ig- 
norance.   Neither  he  nor  his  host  answered  him. 

The  Professor  explained  that  he  followed  the 
mysteries  dimly,  owing  to  a  certain  aspect  of  Orion, 
and  that  therefore  his  class  were  gone  to  their  homes 
and  were  hunting;  and  so  he  studied  alone  under 
unfavourable  auspices.  And  once  more  he  wel- 
comed Rodriguez  to  his  roof,  and  would  command 
straw  to  be  laid  down  for  the  man  that  Rodriguez 
had  brought  from  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight ;  for  he,  the  Professor,  saw  all  things,  though 
certain  stars  would  hide  everything. 

And  when  Rodriguez  had  appropriately  uttered 
his  thanks,  he  added  with  all  humility  and  delicate 
choice  of  phrase  a  petition  that  he  might  be  shown 
some  mere  rudiment  of  the  studies  for  which  that 


72  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

illustrious  chair  in  Saragossa  was  famous.  The 
Professor  bowed  again  and,  in  accepting  the  well- 
rounded  compliments  that  Rodriguez  paid  to  the 
honoured  post  he  occupied,  he  introduced  himself 
by  name.  He  had  been  once,  he  said,  the  Count  of 
the  Mountain,  but  when  his  astral  studies  had  made 
him  eminent  and  he  had  mastered  the  ways  of  the 
planet  nearest  the  sun  he  took  the  title  Magister 
Mercurii,  and  by  this  had  long  been  known ;  but  had 
now  forsaken  this  title,  great  as  it  was,  for  a  more 
glorious  nomenclature,  and  was  called  in  the  Arabic 
language  the  Slave  of  Orion.  When  Rodriguez 
heard  this  he  bowed  very  low. 

And  now  the  Professor  asked  Rodriguez  in  which 
of  the  activities  of  life  his  interest  lay;  for  the  Chair 
of  Magic  at  Saragossa,  he  said,  was  concerned  with 
them  all. 

"In  war,"  said  Rodriguez. 

And  Morano  unostentatiously  rubbed  his  hands; 
for  here  was  one,  he  thought,  who  would  soon  put 
his  master  on  the  right  way,  and  matters  would  come 
to  a  head  and  they  would  find  the  wars.  But  far 
from  concerning  himself  with  the  wars  of  that  age, 
the  Slave  of  Orion  explained  that  as  events  came 
nearer  they  became  grosser  or  more  material,  and 
that  their  grossness  did  not  leave  them  until  they 
were  some  while  passed  away;  so  that  to  one  whose 
studies  were  with  aetherial  things,  near  events  were 
opaque  and  dim.  He  had  a  window,  he  explained, 
through  which  Rodriguez  should  see  clearly  the 
ancient  wars,  while  another  window  beside  it  looked 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  73 

on  all  wars  of  the  future  except  those  which  were 
planned  already  or  were  coming  soon  to  earth,  and 
which  were  either  invisible  or  seen  dim  as  through 
mist. 

Rodriguez  said  that  to  be  privileged  to  see  so 
classical  an  example  of  magic  would  be  to  him 
both  a  delight  and  honour.  Yet,  as  is  the  way 
of  youth,  he  more  desired  to  have  a  sight  of 
the  wars  than  he  cared  for  all  the  learning  of  the 
Professor. 

And  to  him  who  held  the  Chair  of  Magic  at  Sara- 
gossa  it  was  a  precious  thing  that  his  windows  could 
be  made  to  show  these  marvels,  while  the  guest  to 
whom  he  was  about  to  display  these  two  gems  of  his 
learning  was  thinking  of  little  but  what  he  should 
see  through  the  windows,  and  not  at  all  of  what 
spells,  what  midnight  oil,  what  incantations,  what 
witchcrafts,  what  lonely  hours  among  bats,  had  gone 
to  the  gratification  of  his  young  curiosity.  It  is 
usually  thus. 

The  Professor  rose:  his  cloak  floated  out  from 
him  as  "he  left  the  chamber,  and  Rodriguez  following 
where  he  guided  saw,  by  the  torchlight  in  the  cor- 
ridors, upon  the  dim  purple  border  signs  that,  to 
his  untutored  ignorance  of  magic,  were  no  more 
than  hints  of  the  affairs  of  the  Zodiac.  And  if  these 
signs  were  obscure  it  were  better  they  were  obscurer, 
for  they  dealt  with  powers  that  man  needs  not  to 
possess,  who  has  the  whole  earth  to  regulate  and 
control;  why  then  should  he  seek  to  govern  the 
course  of  any  star? 


74  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

And  Morano  followed  behind  them,  hoping  to  be 
allowed  to  get  a  sight  of  the  wars. 

They  came  to  a  room  where  two  round  windows 
were;  each  of  them  larger  than  the  very  largest 
plate,  and  of  very  thick  glass  indeed,  and  of  a  won- 
derful blue.  The  blue  was  like  the  blue  of  the  Medi- 
terranean at  evening,  when  lights  are  in  it  both  of 
ships  and  of  sunset,  and  lights  of  harbours  being  lit 
one  by  one,  and  the  light  of  Venus  perhaps  and 
about  two  other  stars,  so  deeply  did  it  stare  and  so 
twinkled,  near  its  edges,  with  lights  that  were 
strange  to  that  room,  and  so  triumphed  with  its 
clear  beauty  over  the  night  outside.  No,  it  was 
more  magical  than  the  Mediterranean  at  evening, 
even  though  the  peaks  of  the  Esterels  be  purple  and 
their  bases  melting  in  gold  and  the  blue  sea  lying  be- 
low them  smiling  at  early  stars :  these  windows  were 
more  mysterious  than  that;  it  was  a  more  triumph- 
ant blue ;  it  was  like  the  Mediterranean  seen  with  the 
eyes  of  Shelley,  on  a  happy  day  in  his  youth,  or  like 
the  sea  round  Western  islands  of  fable  seen  by  the 
fancy  of  Keats.  They  were  no  windows  for  any 
need  of  ours,  unless  our  dreams  be  needs,  unless  our 
cries  for  the  moon  be  urged  by  the  same  Necessity 
as  makes  us  cry  for  bread.  They  were  clearly  con- 
cerned only  with  magic  or  poetry;  though  the  Pro- 
fessor claimed  that  poetry  was  but  a  branch  of  his 
subject ;  and  it  was  so  regarded  at  Saragossa,  where 
it  was  taught  by  the  name  of  theoretical  magic, 
while  by  the  name  of  practical  magic  they  taught 
dooms,  brews,  hauntings,  and  spells. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  75 

The  Professor  stood  before  the  left-hand  win- 
dow and  pointed  to  its  deep-blue  centre.  "Through 
this,"  he  said,  "we  see  the  wars  that  were." 

Rodriguez  looked  into  the  deep-blue  centre  where 
the  great  bulge  of  the  glass  came  out  towards  him; 
it  was  near  to  the  edges  where  the  glass  seemed  thin- 
ner that  the  little  strange  lights  were  dancing; 
Morano  dared  to  tiptoe  a  little  nearer.  Rodriguez 
looked  and  saw  no  night  outside.  Just  below  and 
near  to  the  window  was  white  mist,  and  the  dim 
lines  and  smoke  of  what  may  have  been  recent  wars; 
but  farther  away  on  a  plain  of  strangely  vast  dimen- 
sions he  saw  old  wars  that  were.  War  after  war 
he  saw.  Battles  that  long  ago  had  passed  into 
history  and  had  been  for  many  ages  skilled,  glorious 
and  pleasant  encounters  he  saw  even  now  tumbling 
before  him  in  their  savage  confusion  and  dirt.  He 
saw  a  leader,  long  glorious  in  histories  he  had  read, 
looking  round  puzzled,  to  see  what  was  happening, 
and  in  a  very  famous  fight  that  he  had  planned  very 
well.  He  saw  retreats  that  History  called  routs, 
and  routs  that  he  had  seen  History  calling  retreats. 
He  saw  men  winning  victories  without  knowing  they 
had  won.  Never  had  man  pried  before  so  shame- 
lessly upon  History,  or  found  her  such  a  liar.  With 
his  eyes  on  the  great  blue  glass  Rodriguez  forgot 
the  room,  forgot  time,  forgot  his  host  and  poor 
excited  Morano,  as  he  watched  those  famous  fights. 

And  now  my  reader  wishes  to  know  what  he  saw 
and  how  it  was  that  he  was  able  to  see  it. 

As  regards  the  second,   my  reader  will   readily 


76  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

understand  that  the  secrets  of  magic  are  very  care- 
fully guarded,  and  any  smatterings  of  it  that  I  may 
ever  have  come  by  I  possess,  for  what  they  are 
worth,  subjects  to  oaths  and  penalties  at  which  even 
bad  men  shudder.  My  reader  will  be  satisfied  that 
even  those  intimate  bonds  between  reader  and  writer 
are  of  no  use  to  him  here.  I  say  him  as  though  I 
had  only  male  readers,  but  if  my  reader  be  a  lady  I 
leave  the  situation  confidently  to  her  intuition.  As 
for  the  things  he  saw,  of  all  of  these  I  am  at  full 
liberty  to  write,  and  yet,  my  reader,  they  would  differ 
from  History's  version :  never  a  battle  that  Rodri- 
guez saw  on  all  the  plain  that  swept  away  from  that 
(Circular  window,  but  History  wrote  differently.  And 
now,  my  reader,  the  situation  is  this :  who  am  I  ? 
History  was  a  goddess  among  the  Greeks,  or  is  at 
least  a  distinguished  personage,  perhaps  with  a  well- 
earned  knighthood,  and  certainly  with  widespread 
recognition  amongst  the  Right  Kind  of  People.  I 
have  none  of  these  things.  Whom,  then,  would  you 
believe  ? 

Yet  I  would  lay  my  story  confidently  before  you, 
my  reader,  trusting  in  the  justice  of  my  case  and  in 
your  judicial  discernment,  but  for  one  other  thing. 
What  will  the  Goddess  Clio  say,  or  the  well-deserv- 
ing knight,  if  I  offend  History?  She  has  stated  her 
case,  Sir  Bartimeus  has  written  it,  and  then  so  late 
in  the  day  I  come  with  a  different  story,  a  truer  but 
different  story.  What  will  they  do?  Reader,  the 
future  is  dark,  uncertain  and  long;  I  dare  not  trust 
myself  to  it  if  I   offend  History.     Clio  and   Sir 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  77 

Bartimeus  will  make  hay  of  my  reputation;  an 
innuendo  here,  a  fooHsh  fact  there,  they  know  how 
to  do  it,  and  not  a  soul  will  suspect  the  goddess  of 
personal  malice  or  the  great  historian  of  pique. 
Rodriguez  gazed  then  through  the  deep  blue  window, 
forgetful  of  all  around,  on  battles  that  had  not 
all  the  elegance  or  neatness  of  which  our  histories 
so  tidily  tell.  And  as  he  gazed  upon  a  merry  en- 
counter between  two  men  on  the  fringe  of  an  ancient 
fight  he  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder  and  then  almost 
a  tug,  and  turning  round  beheld  the  room  he  was  in. 
How  long  he  had  been  absent  from  it  in  thought  he 
did  not  know,  but  the  Professor  was  still  standing 
with  folded  arms  where  he  had  left  him,  probably 
well  satisfied  with  the  wonder  that  his  most  secret 
art  had  awakened  in  his  guest.  It  was  Morano  who 
touched  his  shoulder,  unable  to  hold  back  any  longer 
his  impatience  to  see  the  wars ;  his  eyes  as  Rodriguez 
turned  round  were  gazing  at  his  master  with  dog- 
like wistfulness. 

The  absurd  eagerness  of  Morano,  his  uncouth 
touch  on  his  shoulder,  seemed  only  pathetic  to 
Rodriguez.  He  looked  at  the  Professor's  face,  the 
nose  like  a  hawk's  beak,  the  small  eyes  deep  down 
beside  it,  dark  of  hue  and  dreadfully  bright,  the 
silent  lips.  He  stood  there  uttering  no  actual  pro- 
hibition, concerning  which  Rodriguez's  eyes  had 
sought;  so,  stepping  aside  from  his  window,  Rodri- 
guez beckoned  Morano,  who  at  once  ran  forward 
delighted  to  see  those  ancient  wars. 

A  slight  look  of  scorn  showed  faint  upon  the  Pro- 


78  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

fessor's  face  such  as  you  may  see  anywhere  when  a 
master-craftsman  perceives  the  gaze  of  the  ignorant 
turned  towards  his  particular  subject.  But  he  said 
no  word,  and  soon  speech  would  have  been  difficult, 
for  the  loud  clamour  of  Morano  filled  the  room: 
he  had  seen  the  wars  and  his  ecstasies  were  un- 
governed.  As  soon  as  he  saw  those  fights  he  looked 
for  the  Infidels,  for  his  religious  mind  most  loved  to 
see  the  Infidel  slain.  And  if  my  reader  discern  or 
suppose  some  gulf  between  religion  and  the  recent 
business  of  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight, 
Morano,  if  driven  to  admit  any  connection  between 
murder  and  his  daily  bread,  would  have  said,  "All 
the  more  need  then  for  God's  mercy  through  the 
intercession  of  His  most  blessed  Saints."  But  these 
words  had  never  passed  Morano's  lips,  for  shrewd 
as  he  was  in  enquiry  into  any  matter  that  he  desired 
to  know,  his  shrewdness  was  no  less  in  avoiding  en- 
quiry where  there  might  be  something  that  he  de- 
sired not  to  know,  such  as  the  origin  of  his  wages  as 
servant  of  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight,  those 
delicate  gold  rings  with  settings  empty  of  jewels. 

Morano  soon  recognized  the  Infidel  by  his  dress, 
and  after  that  no  other  wars  concerned  him.  He 
slapped  his  thigh,  he  shouted  encouragement,  he 
howled  vile  words  of  abuse,  partly  because  he  be- 
lieved that  this  foul  abuse  was  rightly  the  due  of  the 
Infidel,  and  partly  because  he  believed  it  delighted 
God. 

Rodriguez  stood  and  watched,  pleased  at  the  huge 
joy  of  the  simple  man.     The  Slave  of  Orion  stood 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  79 

watching  in  silence  too,  but  who  knows  if  he  felt 
pleasure  or  any  other  emotion?  Perhaps  his  mind 
was  simply  like  ours;  perhaps,  as  has  been  claimed 
by  learned  men  of  the  best-informed  period,  that 
mind  had  some  control  upon  the  comet,  even  when 
farthest  out  from  the  paths  we  know.  Morano 
turned  round  for  a  moment  to  Rodriguez : 

"Good  wars,  master,  good  wars,"  he  said  with 
a  vast  zest,  and  at  once  his  head  was  back  again  at 
that  calm  blue  window.  In  that  flash  of  the  head 
Rodriguez  had  seen  his  eyes,  blue,  round  and  bulg- 
ing ;  the  round  man  was  like  a  boy  who  in  some  shop 
window  has  seen,  unexpected,  huge  forbidden  sweets. 
Clearly,  in  the  war  he  watched  things  were  going 
well  for  the  Cross,  for  such  cries  came  from  Morano 
as  "A  pretty  stroke,"  'There  now,  the  dirty  Infidel," 
"Now  see  God's  power  shown,"  "Spare  him  not, 
good  knight;  spare  him  not,"  and  many  more,  till, 
uttered  faster  and  faster,  they  merged  into  mere 
clamorous  rejoicing. 

But  the  battles  beyond  the  blue  window  seemed 
to  move  fast,  and  now  a  change  was  passing  across 
Morano's  rejoicings.  It  was  not  that  he  swore  more 
for  the  cause  of  the  Cross,  but  brief,  impatient, 
meaningless  oaths  slipped  from  him  now;  he  was 
becoming  irritable;  a  puzzled  look,  so  far  as  Rodri- 
guez could  see,  was  settling  down  on  his  features. 
For  a  while  he  was  silent  except  for  the  little, 
meaningless  oaths.  Then  he  turned  round  from  the 
glass,  his  hands  stretched  out,  his  face  full  of  urgent 
appeal. 


8o  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"Masters,"  he  said,  "God's  enemy  wins!" 

In  answer  to  Morano's  pitiful  look  Rodriguez' 
hand  went  to  his  sword-hilt;  the  Slave  of  Orion 
merely  smiled  with  his  lips;  Morano  stood  there 
with  his  hands  still  stretched  out,  his  face  still  all 
appeal,  and  something  more  for  there  was  reproach 
in  his  eyes  that  men  could  tarry  while  the  Cross  was 
in  danger  and  the  Infidel  lived.  He  did  not  know 
that  it  was  all  finished  and  over  hundreds  of  years 
ago,  a  page  of  history  upon  which  many  pages  were 
turned,  and  which  lay  as  unalterable  as  the  fate  of 
some  warm  swift  creature  of  early  Eocene  days  over 
whose  fossil  to-day  the  strata  lie  long  and  silent. 

"But  can  nothing  be  done,  master?"  he  said  when 
Rodriguez  told  him  this.  And  when  Rodriguez 
failed  him  here,  he  turned  away  from  the  window. 
To  him  the  Infidel  were  game,  but  to  see  them  de- 
feating Christian  knights  violated  the  deeps  of  his 
feelings. 

Morano  sulky  excited  little  more  notice  from  his 
host  and  his  master  who  had  watched  his  rejoicings, 
and  they  seem  to  have  forgotten  this  humble  cham- 
pion of  Christendom.  The  Professor  slightly  bowed 
to  Rodriguez  and  extended  a  graceful  hand.  He 
pointed  to  the  other  window. 

Reader,  your  friend  shows  you  his  collection  of 
stamps,  his  fossils,  his  poems,  or  his  luggage  labels. 
One  of  them  interests  you,  you  look  at  it  awhile,  you 
are  ready  to  go  away :  then  your  friend  shows  you 
another.  This  also  must  be  seen;  for  your  friend's 
collection  is  a  precious  thing;  it  is  that  point  upon 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  8i 

huge  Earth  on  which  his  spirit  has  Ht,  on  which  it 
rests,  on  which  it  shelters  even  (who  knows  from 
what  storms?).  To  sHght  it  were  to  weaken  such 
hold  as  his  spirit  has,  in  its  allotted  time,  upon  this 
sphere.  It  were  like  breaking  the  twig  of  a  plant 
upon  which  a  butterfly  rests,  and  on  some  stormy 
day  and  late  in  the  year. 

Rodriguez  felt  all  this  dimly,  but  no  less  surely; 
and  went  to  the  other  window. 

Below  the  window  were  those  wars  that  were  soon 
coming  to  Spain,  hooded  in  mist  and  invisible.  In 
the  centre  of  the  window  swam  as  profound  a  blue, 
dwindling  to  paler  splendour  at  the  edge,  the 
wandering  lights  were  as  lovely,  as  in  the  other 
window  just  to  the  left;  but  in  the  view  from  the 
right-hand  window  how  sombre  a  difference.  A 
bare  yard  separated  the  two.  Through  the  window 
to  the  left  was  colour,  courtesy,  splendour ;  there  was 
Death  as  least  disguising  himself,  well  cloaked,  tak- 
ing mincing  steps,  bowing,  wearing  a  plume  in  his 
hat  and  a  decent  mask.  In  the  right-hand  window 
all  the  colours  were  fading,  war  after  war  they  grew 
dimmer;  and  as  the  colours  paled  Death's  sole  pur- 
pose showed  clearer.  Through  the  beautiful  left- 
hand  window  were  killings  to  be  seen,  and  less  mercy 
than  History  supposes,  yet  some  of  the  fighters  were 
merciful,  and  mercy  was  sometimes  a  part  of 
Death's  courtly  pose,  which  went  with  the  cloak  and 
the  plume.  But  in  the  other  window  through  that 
deep,  beautiful  blue  Rodriguez  saw  Man  make  a  new 
ally,  an  ally  who  was  only  cruel  and  strong  and  had 


82  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

no  purpose  but  killing,  who  had  no  pretences  or  pose, 
no  mask  and  no  manner,  but  was  only  the  slave  of 
Death  and  had  no  care  but  for  his  business.  He  saw 
it  grow  bigger  and  stronger.  Heart  it  had  none, 
but  he  saw  its  cold  steel  core  scheming  methodical 
plans  and  dreaming  always  destruction.  Before  it 
faded  men  and  their  fields  and  their  houses.  Rodri- 
guez saw  the  machine. 

Many  a  proud  invention  of  ours  that  Rodriguez 
saw  raging  on  that  ruinous  plain  he  might  have 
anticipated,  but  not  for  all  Spain  would  he  have  done 
so :  it  was  for  the  sake  of  Spain  that  he  was  silent 
about  much  that  he  saw  through  that  window.  As 
he  looked  from  war  to  war  he  saw  almost  the  same 
men  fighting,  men  with  always  the  same  attitude  to 
the  moment  and  with  similar  dim  conception  of 
larger,  vaguer  things ;  grandson  differed  impercepti- 
bly from  grandfather;  he  saw  them  fight  sometimes 
mercifully,  sometimes  murderously,  but  in  all  the 
wars  beyond  that  twinkling  window  he  saw  the 
machine  spare  nothing. 

Then  he  looked  farther,  for  the  wars  that  were 
farthest  from  him  in  time  were  farther  away  from 
the  window.  He  looked  farther  and  saw  the  ruins  of 
Peronne.  He  saw  them  all  alone  with  their  doom 
at  night,  all  drenched  in  white  moonlight,  sheltering 
huge  darkness  in  their  stricken  hollows.  Down  the 
white  street,  past  darkness  after  darkness  as  he  went 
by  the  gaping  rooms  that  the  moon  left  mourning 
alone,  Rodriguez  saw  a  captain  going  back  to  the 
wars  in  that  far- future  time,  who  turned  his  head  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  WONDER  83 

moment  as  he  passed,  looking  Rodriguez  in  the  face, 
and  so  went  on  through  the  ruins  to  find  a  floor  on 
which  to  He  down  for  the  night.  When  he  was  gone 
the  street  was  all  alone  with  disaster,  and  moon- 
light pouring  down,  and  the  black  gloom  in  the 
houses. 

Rodriguez  lifted  his  eyes  and  glanced  from  city 
to  city,  to  Albert,  Bapaume,  and  Arras,  his  gaze 
moved  over  a  plain  with  its  harvest  of  desolation 
lying  forlorn  and  ungathered,  lit  by  the  flashing 
clouds  and  the  moon  and  peering  rockets.  He 
turned  from  the  window  and  wept. 

The  deep  round  window  glowed  with  serene  blue 
glory.  It  seemed  a  foolish  thing  to  weep  by  that 
beautiful  glass.  Morano  tried  to  comfort  him.  That 
calm,  deep  blue,  he  felt,  and  those  little  lights,  surely, 
could  hurt  no  one. 

What  had  Rodriguez  seen  ?  Morano  asked.  But 
that  Rodriguez  would  not  answer,  and  told  no  man 
ever  after  what  he  had  seen  through  that  window. 

The  Professor  stood  silent  still :  he  had  no  com- 
fort to  off^er;  indeed  his  magical  wisdom  had  found 
none  for  the  world. 

You  wonder  perhaps  why  the  Professor  did  not 
give  long  ago  to  the  world  some  of  these  marvels 
that  are  the  pride  of  our  age.  Reader,  let  us  put 
aside  my  tale  for  a  moment  to  answer  this.  For  all 
the  darkness  of  his  sinister  art  there  may  well  have 
been  some  good  in  the  Slave  of  Orion;  and  any  good 
there  was,  and  mere  particle  even,  would  surely 
have  spared  the  world  many  of  those  inventions  that 


84  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

our  age  has  not  spared  it.  Blame  not  the  age,  It  is 
now  too  late  to  stop;  it  is  in  the  grip  of  inventions 
now,  and  has  to  go  on ;  we  cannot  stop  content  with 
mustard-gas;  it  is  the  age  of  Progress,  and  our 
motto  is  Onwards.  And  if  there  was  no  good  in  this 
magical  man,  then  may  it  not  have  been  he  who  in 
due  course,  long  after  he  himself  was  safe  from  life, 
caused  our  inventions  to  be  so  deadly  divulged? 
Some  evil  spirit  has  done  it,  then  why  not  he? 

He  stood  there  silent :  let  us  return  to  our  story. 

Perhaps  the  efforts  of  poor  clumsy  Morano  to 
comfort  him  cheered  Rodriguez  and  sent  him  back 
to  the  window,  perhaps  he  turned  from  them  to  find 
comfort  of  his  own;  but,  however  he  came  by  it, 
he  had  a  hope  that  this  was  a  passing  curse  that  had 
come  on  the  world,  whose  welfare  he  cared  for 
whether  he  lived  or  died,  and  that  looking  a  little 
farther  into  the  future  he  would  see  Mother  Earth 
smiling  and  her  children  happy  again.  So  he  looked 
through  the  deep-blue  luminous  window  once  more, 
beyond  the  battles  we  know.  From  this  he  turned 
back  shuddering. 

Again  he  saw  the  Professor  smile  with  his  lips, 
though  whether  at  his  own  weakness,  or  whether 
with  cynical  mirth  at  the  fate  of  the  world,  Rodri- 
guez could  not  say. 


THE    FOURTH    CHRONICLE 


85 


THE  FOURTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE  CAME  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN 

"T^HE  Professor  said  that  in  curiosity  alone  had 
■^  been  found  the  seeds  of  all  that  is  needful  for 
our  damnation.  Nevertheless,  he  said,  if  Rodriguez 
cared  to  see  more  of  his  mighty  art  the  mysteries  of 
Saragossa  were  all  at  his  guest's  disposal. 

Rodriguez,  sad  and  horrified  though  he  was,  for- 
got none  of  his  courtesy.  He  thanked  the  Professor 
and  praised  the  art  of  Saragossa,  but  his  faith  in 
man  and  his  hope  for  the  world  having  been  newly 
disappointed,  he  cared  little  enough  for  the  things 
we  should  care  to  see  or  for  any  of  the  amusements 
that  are  usually  dear  to  youth. 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  see  anything,  seiior,"  he  said 
to  the  Slave  of  Orion,  "that  is  further  from  our 
poor  Earth,  and  to  study  therein  and  admire  your 
famous  art." 

The  Professor  bowed.  He  drew  small  curtains 
over  the  windows,  matching  his  cloak.  Morano 
sought  a  glimpse  through  the  right-hand  window  be- 
fore the  curtains  covered  it.  Rodriguez  held  him 
back.     Enough  had  been  seen  already,  he  thought, 

87 


88  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

through  that  window  for  the  peace  of  mind  of  the 
world :  but  he  said  no  word  to  Morano.  He  held  him 
by  the  arm,  and  the  Professor  covered  the  windows. 
When  the  little  mauve  curtains  were  drawn  it  seemed 
to  Rodriguez  that  the  windows  behind  them  disap- 
peared and  were  there  no  more;  but  this  he  only 
guessed  from  uncertain  indications. 

Then  the  Professor  drew  forth  his  wand  and  went 
to  his  cupboard  of  wonder.  Thence  he  brought 
condiments,  oils,  and  dews  of  amazement.  These  he 
poured  into  a  vessel  that  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
room,  a  bowl  of  agate  standing  alone  on  a  table.  He 
lit  it  and  it  all  welled  up  in  flame,  a  low  broad  flame 
of  the  colour  of  pale  emerald.  Over  this  he  waved 
his  wand,  which  was  of  exceeding  blackness.  Mo- 
rano watched  as  children  watch  the  dancer,  who  goes 
from  village  to  village  when  spring  is  come,  with 
some  new  dance  out  of  Asia  or  some  new  song.* 
Rodriguez  sat  and  waited.  The  Professor  explained 
that  to  leave  this  Earth  alive,  or  even  dead,  was  pro- 
hibited to  our  bodies,  unless  to  a  very  few,  whose 
names  were  hidden.  Yet  the  spirits  of  men  could  by 
incantation  be  liberated,  and  being  liberated,  could 
be  directed  on  journeys  by  such  minds  as  had  that 
power  passed  down  to  them  from  of  old.  Such 
journeys,  he  said,  were  by  no  means  confined  by  the 
hills  of  Earth.  "The  Saints,"  exclaimed  Morano, 
"guard  us  utterly!"  But  Rodriguez  smiled  a  little. 
His  faith  was  given  to  the  Saints  of  Heaven.  He 
wondered  at  their  wonders,  he  admired  their  mir- 

*He  doesn't,  but  why  shouldn't  he? 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       89 

acles,  he  had  little  faith  to  spare  for  other  marvels; 
in  fact  he  did  not  believe  the  Slave  of  Orion. 

"Do  you  desire  such  a  journey?"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

"It  will  delight  me,"  answered  Rodriguez,  "to  see 
this  example  of  your  art." 

"And  you?"  he  said  to  Morano. 

The  question  seemed  to  alarm  the  placid  Morano, 
but  "I  follow  my  master,"  he  said. 

At  once  the  Professor  stretched  out  his  ebony 
wand,  calling  the  green  flame  higher.  Then  he  put 
out  his  hands  over  the  flame,  without  the  wand,  mov- 
ing them  slowly  with  constantly  tremulous  fingers. 
And  all  at  once  they  heard  him  begin  to  speak.  His 
deep  voice  flowed  musically  while  he  scarcely  seemed 
to  be  speaking  but  seemed  only  to  be  concerned  with 
moving  his  hands.  It  came  soft,  as  though  blown 
faint  from  fabulous  valleys,  inimitably  far  from  the 
land  of  Spain.  It  seemed  full  not  so  much  of  magic 
as  mere  sleep,  either  sleep  in  an  unknown  country 
of  alien  men.  or  sleep  in  a  land  dreamed  sleeping  a 
long  while  since.  As  the  travellers  heard  it  they 
thought  of  things  far  away,  of  mythical  journeys 
and  their  own  earliest  years. 

They  did  not  know  what  he  said  or  what  language 
he  used.  At  first  Rodriguez  thought  Moorish,  then 
he  deemed  it  some  secret  language  come  down  from 
magicians  of  old,  while  Morano  merely  wondered; 
and  then  they  were  lulled  by  the  rhythm  of  those 
strange  words,  and  so  enquired  no  more.  Rodriguez 
pictured    some   sad   wandering   angel,   upon    some 


90  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

mountain-peak  of  African  lands,  resting  a  moment 
and  talking  to  the  solitudes,  telling  the  lonely  valley 
the  mysteries  of  his  home.  While  lulled  though 
Morano  was  he  gave  up  his  alertness  uneasily.  All 
the  while  the  green  flame  flooded  upwards :  all  the 
while  the  tremulous  fingers  made  curious  shadows. 
The  shadow  seemed  to  run  to  Rodriguez  and  beckon 
him  thence :  even  Morano  felt  them  calling.  Rod- 
riguez closed  his  eyes.  The  voice  and  the  Moorish 
spells  made  now  a  more  haunting  melody :  they 
were  now  like  a  golden  organ  on  undiscoverable 
mountains.  Fear  came  on  Morano  at  the  thought: 
who  had  power  to  speak  like  this?  He  grasped 
Rodriguez  by  the  wrist.  "Master!"  he  said,  but 
at  that  moment  on  one  of  those  golden  spells  the 
spirit  of  Rodriguez  drifted  away  from  his  body,  and 
out  of  the  greenish  light  of  the  curious  room;  un- 
hampered by  weight,  or  fatigue,  or  pain,  or  sleep; 
and  it  rose  above  the  rocks  and  over  the  mountain, 
an  unencumbered  spirit:  and  the  spirit  of  Morano 
followed. 

The  mountain  dwindled  at  once ;  the  Earth  swept 
out  all  round  them  and  grew  larger,  and  larger  still, 
and  then  began  to  dwindle.  They  saw  then  that 
they  were  launched  upon  some  astounding  journey. 
Does  my  reader  wonder  they  saw  when  they  had  no 
eyes?  They  saw  as  they  had  never  seen  before,  with 
sight  beyond  what  they  had  ever  thought  to  be  pos- 
sible. Our  eyes  gather  in  light,  and  with  the  little 
rays  of  light  that  they  bring  us  we  gather  a  few 
images  of  things  as  we  suppose  them  to  be.    Pardon 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       91 

me,  reader,  if  I  call  them  things  as  we  suppose  them 
to  be ;  call  them  by  all  means  Things  As  They  Really 
Are,  if  you  wish.  These  images  then,  this  tiny  little 
brain ful  that  we  gather  from  the  immensities,  are  all 
brought  in  by  our  eyesight  upside-down,  and  the 
brain  corrects  them  again ;  and  so,  and  so  we  know 
something.  An  oculist  will  tell  you  how  it  all  works. 
He  may  admit  it  is  all  a  little  clumsy,  or  for  the 
dignity  of  his  profession  he  may  say  it  is  not  at  all. 
But  be  this  as  it  may,  our  eyes  are  but  barriers 
between  us  and  the  immensities.  All  our  five  senses 
that  grope  a  little  here  and  touch  a  little  there,  and 
seize,  and  compare  notes,  and  get  a  little  knowledge 
sometimes,  they  are  only  barriers  between  us  and 
what  there  is  to  know.  Rodriguez  and  Morano 
were  outside  these  barriers.  They  saw  without  the 
imperfections  of  eyesight ;  they  heard  on  that  journey 
what  would  have  deafened  ears;  they  went  through 
our  atmosphere  unburned  by  speed,  and  were  un- 
chilled  in  the  bleak  of  the  outer  spaces.  Thus  freed 
of  the  imperfections  of  the  body  they  sped,  no  less 
upon  a  terrible  journey,  whose  direction  as  yet  Rod- 
riguez only  began  to  fear. 

They  had  seen  the  stars  pale  rapidly  and  then  the 
flash  of  dawn.  The  Sun  rushed  up  and  at  once 
began  to  grow  larger.  Earth,  with  her  curved  sides 
still  diminishing  violently,  was  soon  a  small  round 
garden  in  blue  and  filmy  space,  in  which  mountains 
were  planted.  And  still  the  Sun  was  growing  wider 
and  wider.  And  now  Rodriguez,  though  he  knew 
nothing  of  Sun  or  planets,  perceived  the  obvious 


92  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

truth  of  their  terrible  journey:  they  were  heading 
straight  for  the  Sun.  But  the  spirit  of  Morano 
was  merely  astounded;  yet,  being  free  of  the  body 
he  suffered  none  of  those  inconveniences  that  per- 
turbation may  bring  to  us :  spirits  do  not  gasp,  or 
palpitate,  or  weaken,  or  sicken. 

The  dwindling  Earth  seemed  now  no  more  than 
the  size  of  some  unmapped  island  seen  from  a  moun- 
tain-top, an  island  a  hundred  yards  or  so  across, 
looking  like  a  big  table. 

Speed  is  comparative :  compared  to  sound,  their 
pace  was  beyond  comparison;  nor  could  any  modern 
projectile  attain  any  velocity  comparable  to  it;  even 
the  speed  of  explosion  was  slow  to  it.  And  yet  for 
spirits  they  were  moving  slowly,  who  being  in- 
dependent of  all  material  things,  travel  with  such 
velocities  as  that,  for  instance,  of  thought.  But 
they  were  controlled  by  one  still  dwelling  on  Earth, 
who  used  material  things,  and  the  material  that  the 
Professor  was  using  to  hurl  them  upon  their  journey 
was  light,  the  adaptation  of  which  to  this  purpose 
he  had  learned  at  Saragossa.  At  the  pace  of  light 
they  were  travelling  towards  the  Sun. 

They  crossed  the  path  of  Venus,  far  from  where 
Venus  then  was,  so  that  she  scarcely  seemed  larger 
to  them ;  Earth  was  but  little  bigger  than  the  Even- 
ing Star,  looking  dim  in  that  monstrous  daylight. 

Crossing  the  path  of  Mercury,  Mercury  appeared 
huger  than  our  Moon,  an  object  weirdly  unnatural ; 
and  they  saw  ahead  of  them  the  terrific  glare  in  which 
Mercury  basks,  from  a  Sun  whose  withering  orb  had 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       93 

more  than  doubled  its  width  since  they  came  from 
the  hills  of  Earth.  And  after  this  the  Sun  grew 
terribly  larger,  filling  the  centre  of  the  sky,  and 
spreading  and  spreading  and  spreading.  It  was  now 
that  they  saw  what  would  have  dazzled  eyes,  would 
have  burned  up  flesh  and  would  have  shrivelled  every 
protection  that  our  scientists'  ingenuity  could  have 
devised  even  to-day.  To  speak  of  time  there  is 
meaningless.  There  is  nothing  in  the  empty  space 
between  the  Sun  and  Mercury  with  which  time  is 
at  all  concerned.  Far  less  is  there  meaning  in  time 
wherever  the  spirits  of  men  are  under  stress.  A 
few  minutes'  bombardment  in  a  trench,  a  few  hours 
in  a  battle,  a  few  weeks'  travelling  in  a  trackless 
country ;  these  minutes,  these  hours,  these  weeks  can 
never  be  few. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano  had  been  travelling  about 
six  or  seven  minutes,  but  it  seems  idle  to  say  so. 

And  then  the  Sun  began  to  fill  the  whole  sky  in 
front  of  them.  And  in  another  minute,  if  minutes 
had  any  meaning,  they  were  heading  for  a  boundless 
region  of  flame  that,  left  and  right,  was  everywhere, 
and  now  towered  above  them,  and  went  below  them 
into  a  flaming  abyss. 

And  now  Morano  spoke  to  Rodriguez.  He 
thought  towards  him,  and  Rodriguez  was  aware  of 
his  thinking :  it  is  thus  that  spirits  communicate. 

^'Master,"  he  said,  "when  it  was  all  spring  in 
Spain,  years  ago  when  T  was  thin  and  young,  twenty 
years  gone  at  least ;  and  the  butterflies  were  come, 
and  song  was  everywhere;  there  came  a  maid  bare- 


94  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

footed  over  a  stream,  walking  through  flowers,  and 
all  to  pluck  the  anemones."  How  fair  she  seemed 
even  now,  how  bright  that  far  spring  day.  Morano 
told  Rodriguez  not  with  his  blundering  lips:  they 
were  closed  and  resting  deeply  millions  of  miles 
away :  he  told  him  as  spirits  tell.  And  in  that  clear 
communication  Rodriguez  saw  all  that  shone  in 
Morano's  memory,  the  grace  of  the  young  girl's 
ankles,  the  thrill  of  Spring,  the  anemones  larger  and 
brighter  than  anemones  ever  were,  the  hawks  still  in 
clear  sky;  earth  happy  and  heaven  blue,  and  the 
dreams  of  youth  between.  You  would  not  have 
said,  had  you  seen  Morano's  coarse  fat  body,  asleep 
in  a  chair  in  the  Professor's  room,  that  his  spirit 
treasured  such  delicate,  nymph-like,  pastoral  mem- 
ories as  now  shone  clear  to  Rodriguez.  No  words 
the  blunt  man  had  ever  been  able  to  utter  had  ever 
hinted  that  he  sometimes  thought  like  a  dream  of 
pictures  by  Watteau.  And  now  in  that  awful  space 
before  the  power  of  the  terrible  Sun,  spirit  com- 
muned with  spirit,  and  Rodriguez  saw  the  beauty  of 
that  far  day,  framed  all  about  the  beauty  of  one 
young  girl,  just  as  it  had  been  for  years  in  Morano's 
memory.  How  shall  I  tell  with  words  what  spirit 
sang  wordless  to  spirit?  We  poets  may  compete 
with  each  other  in  words;  but  when  spirits  give  up 
the  purest  gold  of  their  store,  that  has  shone  far 
down  the  road  of  their  earthly  journey,  cheering 
tired  hearts  and  guiding  mortal  feet,  our  words  shall 
barely  interpret. 

Love,  coming  long  ago  over  flowers  in   Spain, 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       95 

found  Morano;  words  did  not  tell  the  story,  words 
cannot  tell  it;  as  a  lake  reflects  a  cloud  in  the  blue 
of  heaven,  so  Rodriguez  understood  and  felt  and 
knew  this  memory  out  of  the  days  of  Morano's 
youth.  "And  so,  master,"  said  Morano,  "I  sinned, 
and  would  indeed  repent,  and  yet  even  now  at  this 
last  dread  hour  I  cannot  abjure  that  day;  and  this 
is  indeed  Hell,  as  the  good  father  said." 

Rodriguez  tried  to  comfort  Morano  with  such 
knowledge  as  he  had  of  astronomy,  if  knowledge  it 
could  be  called.  Indeed,  if  he  had  known  anything 
he  would  have  perplexed  Morano  more,  and  his  little 
pieces  of  ignorance  were  well  adapted  for  comfort. 
But  Morano  had  given  up  hope,  having  long  been 
taught  to  expect  this  very  fire :  his  spirit  was  no 
wiser  than  it  had  been  on  Earth,  it  was  merely  freed 
of  the  imperfections  of  the  five  senses  and  so  had 
observation  and  expression  beyond  those  of  any 
artist  the  world  has  known.  This  was  the  natural 
result  of  being  freed  of  the  body;  but  he  was  not 
suddenly  wiser;  and  so,  as  he  moved  towards  this 
boundless  flame,  he  expected  every  moment  to  see 
Satan  charge  out  to  meet  him :  and  having  no  hope 
for  the  future  he  turned  to  the  past  and  fondled  the 
memory  of  that  one  spring  day.  His  was  a  back- 
sliding, unrepentant  spirit. 

As  that  monstrous  sea  of  flame  grew  ruthlessly 
larger  Rodriguez  felt  no  fear,  for  spirits  have  no 
fear  of  material  things:  but  Morano  feared.  He 
feared  as  spirits  fear  spiritual  things;  he  thought 
he  neared  the  home  of  vast  spirits  of  evil  and  that 


96  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

the  arena  of  conflict  was  eternity.  He  feared  with 
a  fear  too  great  to  be  borne  by  bodies.  Per- 
haps the  fat  body  that  slept  on  a  chair  on  earth 
was  troubled  in  dreams  by  some  echo  of  that 
fear  that  gripped  the  spirit  so  sorely.  And  it 
may  be  from  such  far  fears  that  all  our  nightmares 
come. 

When  they  had  travelled  nearly  ten  minutes  from 
Earth  and  were  about  to  pass  into  the  midst  of  the 
flame,  that  magician  who  controlled  their  journey 
halted  them  suddenly  in  Space,  among  the  upper 
mountain-peaks  of  the  Sun.  There  they  hovered  as 
the  clouds  hover  that  leave  their  companions  and 
drift  among  crags  of  the  Alps:  below  them  those 
awful  mountains  heaved  and  thundered.  All  Atlas, 
and  Teneriffe,  and  lonely  Kenia  might  have  lain 
amongst  them  unnoticed.  As  often  as  the  earth- 
quake rocked  their  bases  it  loosened  from  near  their 
summits  wild  avalanches  of  gold  that  swept  down 
their  flaming  slopes  with  unthinkable  tumult.  As 
they  watched,  new  mountains  rode  past  them, 
crowned  with  their  frightful  flames;  for,  whether 
man  knew  it  or  not,  the  Sun  was  rotating,  but  the 
force  of  its  gravity  that  swung  the  planets  had  no 
grip  upon  spirits,  who  were  held  by  the  power  of 
that  tremendous  spell  that  the  Professor  had  learned 
one  midnight  at  Saragossa  from  one  of  that  dread 
line  who  have  their  secrets  from  a  source  that  we 
do  not  know  in  a  distant  age. 

There  is  always  something  tremendous  in  the 
form  of  great  mountains;  but  these  swept  by,  not 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       97 

only  huger  than  anything  Earth  knows,  but  troubled 
by  horrible  commotions,  as  though  overtaken  in 
flight  by  some  ceaseless  calamity. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano,  as  they  looked  at  them, 
forgetting  the  gardens  of  Earth,  forgetting  Spring 
and  Summer  and  the  sweet  beneficence  of  sunshine, 
felt  that  the  purpose  of  Creation  was  evil !  So  shock- 
ing a  thought  may  well  astound  us  here,  where  green 
hills  slope  to  lawns  or  peer  at  a  peaceful  sea;  but 
there  among  the  flames  of  those  dreadful  peaks  the 
Sun  seemed  not  the  giver  of  joy  and  colour  and  life, 
but  only  a  catastrophe  huger  than  everlasting  war, 
a  centre  of  hideous  violence  and  ruin  and  anger  and 
terror.  There  came  by  mountains  of  copper  burning 
everlasting,  hurling  up  to  unthinkable  heights  their 
mass  of  emerald  flame.  And  mountains  of  iron 
raged  by  and  mountains  of  salt,  quaking  and  thun- 
dering and  clothed  with  their  colours,  the  iron  always 
scarlet  and  the  salt  blue.  And  sometimes  there  came 
by  pinnacles  a  thousand  miles  high  that  from  base  to 
summit  were  fire,  mountains  of  pure  flame  that  had 
no  other  substance.  And  these  explosive  mountains, 
born  of  thunder  and  earthquake,  hurling  down 
avalanches  the  size  of  our  continents,  and  drawing 
upward  out  of  the  deeps  of  the  Sun  new  material 
for  splendour  and  horror,  this  roaring  waste,  this 
extravagant  destruction,  were  necessary  for  every 
tint  that  our  butterflies  wear  on  their  wings.  Without 
those  flaming  ranges  of  mountains  of  iron  they  would 
have  no  red  to  show ;  even  the  poppy  could  have  no 
red  for  her  petals:  without  the   flames  that  were 


98  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

blasting  the  mountains  of  salt  there  could  be  no 
answering  blue  in  any  wing,  or  one  blue  flower  for 
all  the  bees  of  Earth :  without  the  nightmare  light 
of  those  frightful  canyons  of  copper  that  awed  the 
two  spirits  watching  their  ceaseless  ruin,  the  very 
leaves  of  the  woods  we  love  would  be  without  their 
green  with  which  to  welcome  Spring;  for  from  the 
flames  of  the  various  metals  and  wonders  that  for 
ever  blaze  in  the  Sun,  our  sunshine  gets  all  its 
colours  that  it  conveys  to  us  almost  unseen,  and 
thence  the  wise  little  insects  and  patient  flowers  softly 
draw  the  gay  tints  that  they  glory  in;  there  is  no- 
where else  to  get  them. 

And  yet  to  Rodriguez  and  Morano  all  that  they 
saw  seemed  wholly  and  hideously  evil. 

How  long  they  may  have  watched  there  they  tried 
to  guess  afterwards,  but  as  they  looked  on  those 
terrific  scenes  they  had  no  way  to  separate  days  from 
minutes :  nothing  about  them  seemed  to  escape 
destruction,  and  time  itself  seemed  no  calmer  than 
were  those  shuddering  mountains. 

Then  the  thundering  ranges  passed;  and  after- 
wards there  came  a  gleaming  mountain,  one  huge 
and  lonely  peak,  seemingly  all  of  gold.  Had  our 
whole  world  been  set  beside  it  and  shaped  as  it  was 
shaped,  that  golden  mountain  would  yet  have  tow- 
ered above  it:  it  would  have  taken  our  moon  as 
well  to  reach  that  flashing  peak.  It  rode  on  toward 
them  in  its  golden  majesty,  higher  than  all  the 
flames,  save  now  and  then  when  some  wild  gas 
seemed  to  flee  from  the  dread  earthquakes  of  the 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN       99 

Sun,  and  was  overtaken  in  the  height  by  fire,  even 
above  that  mountain. 

As  that  mass  of  gold  that  was  higher  than  all 
the  world  drew  near  to  Rodriguez  and  Morano  they 
felt  its  unearthly  menace;  and  though  it  could  not 
overcome  their  spirits  they  knew  there  was  a  hideous 
terror  about  it.  It  was  in  its  awful  scale  that  its 
terror  lurked  for  any  creature  of  our  planet.  Though 
they  could  not  quake  or  tremble  they  felt  that  terror. 
The  mountain  dwarfed  Earth. 

Man  knows  his  littleness,  his  own  mountains 
remind  him;  many  countries  are  small,  and  some 
nations :  but  the  dreams  of  Man  make  up  for  our 
faults  and  failings,  for  the  brevity  of  our  lives,  for 
the  narrowness  of  our  scope;  they  leap  over  bounda- 
ries and  are  away  and  away.  But  this  great  moun- 
tain belittled  the  world  and  all :  who  gazed  on  it 
knew  all  his  dreams  to  be  puny.  Before  this  moun- 
tain Man  seemed  a  trivial  thing,  and  Earth,  and  all 
the  dreams  Man  had  of  himself  and  his  home. 

The  golden  mass  drew  opposite  those  two  watchers 
and  seemed  to  challenge  with  its  towering  head  the 
pettiness  of  the  tiny  world  they  knew.  And  then 
the  whole  gleaming  mountain  gave  one  shudder  and 
fell  into  the  awful  plains  of  the  Sun.  Straight  down 
before  Rodriguez  and  Morano  it  slipped  roaring,  till 
the  golden  peak  was  gone,  and  the  molten  plain 
closed  over  it;  and  only  ripples  remained,  the  size 
of  Europe,  as  when  a  tumbling  river  strikes  the 
rocks  of  its  bed  and  on  its  surface  heaving  circles 
widen   and  disappear.     And  then,   as  though  this 


100  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

horror  left  nothing  more  to  be  shown,  they  felt  the 
Professor  beckon  to  them  from  Earth. 

Over  the  plains  of  the  Sun  a  storm  was  sweeping 
in  gusts  of  howling  flame  as  they  felt  the  Professor's 
spell  drawing  them  home.  For  the  magnitude  of 
that  storm  there  are  no  words  in  use  among  us;  its 
velocity,  if  expressed  in  figures,  would  have  no 
meaning;  its  heat  was  immeasurable.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  if  such  a  tempest  could  have  swept  over 
Earth  for  a  second,  both  the  poles  would  have  boiled. 
The  travellers  left  it  galloping  over  that  plain, 
rippled  from  underneath  by  the  restless  earthquake 
and  whipped  into  flaming  foam  by  the  force  of  the 
storm.  The  Sun  already  was  receding  from  them, 
already  growing  smaller.  Soon  the  storm  seemed 
but  a  cloud  of  light  sweeping  over  the  empty  plain, 
like  a  murderous  mourner  rushing  swiftly  away  from 
the  grave  of  that  mighty  mountain. 

And  now  the  Professor's  spell  gripped  them  in 
earnest :  rapidly  the  Sun  grew  smaller.  As  swiftly 
as  he  had  sent  them  upon  that  journey  he  was  now 
drawing  them  home.  They  overtook  thunders  that 
they  had  heard  already,  and  passed  them,  and  came 
again  to  the  silent  spaces  which  the  thunders  of  the 
Sun  are  unable  to  cross,  so  that  even  Mercury  is 
undisturbed  by  them. 

I  have  said  that  spirits  neither  fade  nor  weary. 
But  a  great  sadness  was  on  them;  they  felt  as  men 
feel  who  come  whole  away  from  periods  of  peril. 
They  had  seen  cataclysms  too  vast  for  our  imagina- 
tion, and  a  mourn  fulness  and  a  satiety  were  upon 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     loi 

them.  They  could  have  gazed  at  one  flower  for 
days  and  needed  no  other  experience,  as  a  wounded 
man  may  be  happy  staring  at  the  flame  of  a  candle. 

Crossing  the  paths  of  Mercury  and  Venus,  they 
saw  that  these  planets  had  not  appreciably  moved, 
and  Rodriguez,  who  knew  that  planets  wander  in 
the  night,  guessed  thereby  that  they  had  not  been 
absent  from  Earth  for  many  hours. 

They  rejoiced  to  see  the  Sun  diminishing  steadily. 
Only  for  a  moment  as  they  started  their  journey  had 
they  seen  that  solar  storm  rushing  over  the  plains  of 
the  Sun;  but  now  it  appeared  to  hang  halted  in  its 
mid  anger,  as  though  blasting  one  region  eternally. 

Moving  on  with  the  pace  of  light,  they  saw  Earth, 
soon  after  crossing  the  path  of  Venus,  beginning  to 
grow  larger  than  a  star.  Never  had  home  appeared 
more  welcome  to  wanderers,  who  see  their  house  far 
off,  returning  home. 

And  as  Earth  grew  larger,  and  they  began  to  see 
forms  that  seemed  like  seas  and  mountains,  they 
looked  for  their  own  country,  but  could  not  find  it : 
for,  travelling  straight  from  the  Sun,  they  ap- 
proached that  part  of  the  world  that  was  then  turned 
towards  it,  and  were  heading  straight  for  China, 
while  Spain  lay  still  in  darkness. 

But  when  they  came  near  Earth  and  its  mountains 
were  clear,  then  the  Professor  drew  them  across  the 
world,  into  the  darkness  and  over  Spain;  so  that 
those  two  spirits  ended  their  marvellous  journey 
much  as  the  snii)e  ends  his,  a  drop  out  of  heaven 
and  a  swoop  low  over  marshes.    So  they  came  home. 


102  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

while  Earth  seemed  calHng  to  them  with  all  her 
voices;  with  memories,  sights  and  scents,  and  little 
sounds;  calling  anxiously,  as  though  they  had  been 
too  long  away  and  must  be  home  soon.  They  heard 
a  cock  crow  on  the  edge  of  the  night;  they  heard 
more  little  sounds  than  words  can  say;  only  the 
organ  can  hint  at  them.  It  was  Earth  calling.  For, 
talk  as  we  may  of  our  dreams  that  transcend  this 
sphere,  or  our  hopes  that  build  beyond  it.  Mother 
Earth  has  yet  a  mighty  hold  upon  us;  and  her 
myriad  sounds  were  blending  in  one  cry  now,  know- 
ing that  it  was  late  and  that  these  two  children  of 
hers  were  nearly  lost.  For  our  spirits  that  some- 
times cross  the  path  of  the  angels,  and  on  rare 
evenings  hear  a  word  of  their  talk,  and  have  brief 
equality  with  the  Powers  of  Light,  have  the  duty 
also  of  moving  fingers  and  toes,  which  freeze  if 
our  proud  spirits  forget  their  task  for  too  long. 

And  just  as  Earth  was  despairing  they  reached 
the  Professor's  mountain  and  entered  the  room  in 
which  their  bodies  were. 

Blue  and  cold  and  ugly  looked  the  body  of  Mo- 
rano,  but  for  all  its  pallor  there  was  beauty  in  the 
young  face  of  Rodriguez. 

The  Professor  stood  before  them  as  he  had  stood 
when  their  spirits  left,  with  the  table  between  him 
and  the  bodies,  and  the  bowl  on  the  table  which  held 
the  green  flame,  now  low  and  flickering  desperately, 
which  the  Professor  watched  as  it  leaped  and  failed, 
with  an  air  of  anxiety  that  seemed  to  pinch  his  thin 
features. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     103 

With  an  impatience  strange  to  him  he  waved  a 
swift  hand  towards  each  of  the  two  bodies  where 
they  sat  stiff,  illumined  by  the  last  of  the  green 
light;  and  at  those  rapid  gestures  the  travellers  re- 
turned to  their  habitations. 

They  seemed  to  be  just  awakening  out  of  deep 
sleep.  Again  they  saw  the  Professor  standing  before 
them.  But  they  saw  him  only  with  blinking  eyes, 
they  saw  him  only  as  eyes  can  see,  guessing  at  his 
mind  from  the  lines  of  his  face,  at  his  thoughts 
from  the  movements  of  his  hands,  guessing  as  men 
guess,  blindly:  only  a  moment  before  tliey  had 
known  him  utterly.  Now  they  were  dazed  and  for- 
getting: slow  blood  began  to  creep  again  to  their 
toes  and  to  come  again  to  its  place  under  finger- 
nails :  it  came  with  intense  pain :  they  forgot  their 
spirits.  Then  all  the  woes  of  Earth  crowded  their 
minds  at  once,  so  that  they  wished  to  weep,  as 
infants  weep. 

The  Professor  gave  this  mood  time  to  change, 
as  change  it  presently  did.  For  the  warm  blood 
came  back  and  lit  their  cheeks,  and  a  tingling  suc- 
ceeded the  pain  in  their  fingers  and  toes,  and  a  mild 
warmth  succeeded  the  tingling :  their  thoughts  came 
back  to  the  things  of  every  day,  to  mundane  things 
and  the  affairs  of  the  body.  Therein  they  rejoiced, 
and  Morano  no  less  than  Rodriguez ;  though  it  was 
a  coarse  and  common  body  that  Morano's  spirit 
inhabited.  And  when  the  Professor  saw  that  the 
first  sorrow  of  Earth,  which  all  spirits  feel  when 
they  land  here,  had  passed  away,  and  that  they  were 


104  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

feeling  again  the  joy  of  mundane  things,  only  then 
did  he  speak. 

"Sefior,"  he  said,  "beyond  the  path  of  Mars  run 
many  worlds  that  I  would  have  you  know.  The 
greatest  of  these  is  Jupiter,  towards  whom  all  that 
follow  my  most  sacred  art  show  reverent  affection. 
The  smallest  are  those  that  sometimes  strike  our 
world,  flaming  all  green  upon  November  nights,  and 
are  even  as  small  as  apples."  He  spoke  of  our  world 
with  a  certain  air  and  a  pride,  as  though,  through 
virtue  of  his  transcendent  art,  the  world  were  only 
his.  "The  world  that  we  name  Argola,"  he  said, 
"is  far  smaller  than  Spain  and,  being  invisible  from 
Earth,  is  only  known  to  the  few  who  have  spoken  to 
spirits  whose  wanderings  have  surpassed  the  path  of 
Mars.  Nearly  half  of  Argola  you  shall  find  covered 
with  forests,  which  though  very  dense  are  no  deeper 
than  moss,  and  the  elephants  in  them  are  not  larger 
than  beetles.  You  shall  see  many  wonders  of  small- 
ness  in  this  world  of  Argola,  which  I  desire  in 
especial  to  show  you,  since  it  is  the  orb  with  which 
we  who  study  the  Art  are  most  familiar,  of  all 
the  worlds  that  the  vulgar  have  not  known.  It  is 
indeed  the  prize  of  our  traffic  in  those  things 
that  far  transcend  the  laws  that  have  forbidden 
them." 

And  as  he  said  this  the  green  flame  in  the  bowl 
before  him  died,  and  he  moved  towards  his  cupboard 
of  wonder.  Rodriguez  hastily  thanked  the  Professor 
for  his  great  courtesy  in  laying  bare  before  him 
secrets  that  the  centuries  hid,  and  then  he  referred 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     105 

to  his  own  great  unworthiness,  to  the  lateness  of 
the  hour,  to  the  fatigue  of  the  Professor,  and  to 
the  importance  to  Learning  of  adequate  rest  to 
refresh  his  illustrious  mind.  And  all  that  he  said 
the  Professor  parried  with  bows,  and  drew  enchant- 
ments from  his  cupboard  of  wonder  to  replenish  the 
bowl  on  the  table.  And  Rodriguez  saw  that  he  was 
in  the  clutch  of  a  collector,  one  who  having  devoted 
all  his  days  to  a  hobby  will  exhibit  his  treasures  to 
the  uttermost,  and  that  the  stars  that  magic  knows 
were  no  less  to  the  Professor  than  all  the  whatnots 
that  a  man  collects  and  insists  on  showing  to  whom- 
soever enters  his  house.  He  feared  some  terrible 
journey,  perhaps  some  bare  escape ;  for  though  no 
material  thing  can  quite  encompass  a  spirit,  he  knew 
not  what  wanderers  he  might  not  meet  in  lonely 
spaces  beyond  the  path  of  Mars.  So  when  his  last 
polite  remonstrance  failed,  being  turned  aside  with 
a  pleasant  phrase  and  a  smile  from  the  grim  lips, 
and  looking  at  Morano  he  saw  that  he  shared  his 
fears,  then  he  determined  to  show  whatever  resist- 
ance were  needed  to  keep  himself  and  Morano  in 
this  old  world  that  we  know,  or  that  youth  at  least 
believes  that  it  knows. 

He  watched  the  Professor  return  with  his  packets 
of  wonder;  dust  from  a  fallen  star,  phials  of  tears 
of  lost  lovers,  poison  and  gold  out  of  elf-land,  and 
all  manner  of  things.  But  the  moment  that  he  put 
them  into  the  bowl  Rodriguez'  hand  flew  to  his 
sword-hilt.  He  heaved  up  his  elbow,  but  no  sword 
came  forth,  for  it  lay  magnetised  to  its  scabbard  by 


io6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

the  grip  of  a  current  of  magic.  When  Rodriguez 
saw  this  he  knew  not  what  to  do. 

The  Professor  went  on  pouring  into  the  bowl.  He 
added  an  odour  distilled  out  of  dream-roses,  three 
drops  from  the  gall-bladder  of  a  fabulous  beast,  and 
a  little  dust  that  had  been  man.  More  too  he  added, 
so  that  my  reader  might  wonder  were  I  to  tell  him 
all ;  yet  it  is  not  so  easy  to  free  our  spirits  from  the 
gross  grip  of  our  bodies.  Wonder  not  then,  my 
reader,  if  the  Professor  exerted  strange  powers. 
And  all  the  while  Morano  was  picking  at  a  nail  that 
fastened  on  the  handle  to  his  frying-pan. 

And  just  as  the  last  few  mysteries  were  shaken 
into  the  bowl, — and  there  were  two  among  them  of 
which  even  Asia  is  ignorant, — just  as  the  dews  were 
blended  with  the  powers  in  a  grey-green  sinister 
harmony,  Morano  untwisted  his  nail  and  got  the 
handle  loose. 

The  Professor  kindled  the  mixture  in  the  bowl; 
again  green  flame  arose,  again  that  voice  of  his 
began  to  call  to  their  spirits,  and  its  beauty  and  the 
power  of  its  spell  were  as  of  some  fallen  angel.  The 
spirit  of  Rodriguez  was  nearly  passing  helplessly 
forth  again  on  some  frightful  journey,  when  Mo- 
rano losed  his  scabbard  and  sword  from  its  girdle 
and  tied  the  handle  of  his  frying-pan  across  it  a 
little  below  the  hilt  with  a  piece  of  string.  Across 
the  table  the  Professor  intoned  his  spell,  across  a 
narrow  table,  but  it  seemed  to  come  from  the  far 
side  of  the  twilight,  a  twilight  red  and  golden  in 
long  layers,  of  an  evening  wonderfully  long  ago. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     107 

It  seemed  to  take  its  music  out  of  the  lights  that 
it  flowed  through  and  to  call  Rodriguez  from  im- 
mediately far  away,  with  a  call  which  it  were  sacri- 
lege to  refuse,  and  anguish  even,  and  hard  toil  such 
as  there  was  no  strength  to  do.  And  then  Morano 
held  up  the  sword  in  its  scabbard  with  the  handle  of 
the  frying-pan  tied  across.  Rodriguez,  disturbed 
by  a  stammer  in  the  spell,  looked  up  and  saw  the 
Professor  staring  at  the  sword  where  Morano  held 
it  up  before  his  face  in  the  green  light  of  the  flame 
from  the  bowl.  He  did  not  seem  like  a  fallen  angel 
now.  His  spell  had  stopped.  He  seemed  like  a 
professor  who  had  forgotten  the  theme  of  his  lec- 
ture, while  the  class  waits.  For  Morano  was  hold- 
ing up  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"You  have  betrayed  me !"  shouted  the  Slave  of 
Orion :  the  green  flame  died,  and  he  strode  out  of 
the  room,  his  purple  cloak  floating  behind  him. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "it  was  always  good 
against  magic." 

The  sword  was  loose  in  the  scabbard  as  Rodriguez 
took  it  back;  there  was  no  longer  a  current  of  magic 
gripping  the  steel. 

A  litde  uneasily  Rodriguez  thanked  Morano:  he 
was  not  sure  if  Morano  had  behaved  as  a  guest's 
servant  should.  But  when  he  thought  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's terrible  spells,  which  had  driven  them  to  the 
awful  crags  of  the  sun,  and  might  send  them  who 
knows  where  to  hob-nob  with  who  knows  what,  his 
second  thoughts  perceived  that  Morano  was  right 
to  cut  short  those  arts  that  the  Slave  of  Orion  loved, 


io8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

even  by  so  extreme  a  step :  and  he  praised  Morano 
as  his  ready  shrewdness  deserved. 

"We  were  very  nearly  too  late  back  from  that 
outing,  master,"  remarked  Morano. 

"How  know  you  that?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"This  old  body  knew,"  said  Morano.  "Those 
heart-thumpings,  this  warmness,  and  all  the  things 
that  make  a  fat  body  comfortable,  they  were  stop- 
ping, master,  they  were  spoiling,  they  were  getting 
cold  and  strange :  I  go  no  more  errands  for  that 
senor." 

A  certain  diffidence  about  criticising  his  host  even 
now ;  and  a  very  practical  vein  that  ran  through  his 
nature,  now  showing  itself  in  anxiety  for  a  bed  at  so 
late  an  hour;  led  Rodriguez  to  change  the  subject. 
He  wanted  that  aged  butler,  yet  dare  not  ring  the 
bell ;  for  he  feared  lest  with  all  the  bells  there  might 
be  in  use  that  frightful  practice  that  he  had  met  by 
the  outer  door,  a  chain  connected  with  some  hideous 
hook  that  gave  anguish  to  something  in  the  basement 
whenever  one  touched  the  handle,  so  that  the  menials 
of  that  grim  Professor  were  shrilly  summoned  by 
screams.  And  therefore  Rodriguez  sought  counsel 
of  Morano,  who  straightway  volunteered  to  find  the 
butler's  quarters,  by  a  certain  sense  that  he  had  of 
the  fitness  of  things :  and  forth  he  went,  but  would 
not  leave  the  room  without  the  scabbard  and  the 
handle  of  the  frying-pan  lashed  to  it,  which  he  bore 
high  before  him  in  both  his  hands  as  though  he 
were  leading  some  austere  procession.  And  even  so 
he  returned  with  that  aged  man  the  butler,  who  led 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     109 

them  down  dim  corridors  of  stone;  but,  though  he 
showed  the  way,  Morano  would  go  in  front,  still 
holding  up  that  scabbard  and  handle  before  him, 
while  Rodriguez  held  the  bare  sword.  And  so  they 
came  to  a  room  lit  by  the  flare  of  one  candle,  which 
their  guide  told  them  the  Professor  had  prepared 
for  his  guest.  In  the  vastness  of  it  was  a  great  bed. 
Shadows  and  a  whir  as  of  wings  passed  out  of  the 
door  as  they  entered.  "Bats,"  said  the  ancient  guide. 
But  Morano  believed  he  had  routed  powers  of  evil 
with  the  handle  of  his  frying-pan  and  his  master's 
scabbard.  Who  could  say  what  they  were  in  such  a 
house,  where  bats  and  evil  spirits  sheltered  peren- 
nially from  the  brooms  of  the  just?  Then  that 
ancient  man  with  the  lips  of  some  woodland  thing 
departed,  and  Rodriguez  went  to  the  great  bed.  On 
a  pile  of  straw  that  had  been  cast  into  the  room 
Morano  lay  down  across  the  door,  setting  the  scab- 
bard upright  in  a  rat-hole  near  his  head,  while  Rod- 
riguez lay  down  with  the  bare  sword  in  his  hand. 
There  was  only  one  door  in  the  room,  and  this 
Morano  guarded.  Windows  there  were,  but  they 
were  shuttered  with  raw  oak  of  enormous  thickness. 
He  had  already  enquired  with  his  sword  behind  the 
velvet  curtains.  He  felt  secure  in  the  bulk  of 
Morano  across  the  only  door,  at  least  from  creatures 
of  this  world:  and  Morano  feared  no  longer  either 
spirit  or  spell,  believing  that  he  had  vanquished  the 
Professor  with  his  symbol,  and  all  such  allies  as 
he  may  have  had  here  or  elsewhere.  But  not  thus 
easily  do  we  overcome  the  powers  of  evil. 


no  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

A  step  was  heard  such  as  man  walks  with  at  the 
close  of  his  later  years,  coming  along  the  corridor 
of  stone;  and  they  knew  it  for  the  Professor's  butler 
returning.  The  latch  of  the  door  trembled  and 
lifted,  and  the  great  oak  door  bumped  slowly  against 
Morano,  who  arose  grumbling,  and  the  old  man 
appeared. 

"The  Professor,"  he  said,  while  Morano  watched 
him  grudgingly,  "returns  with  all  his  household  to 
Saragossa  at  once,  to  resume  those  studies  for  which 
his  name  resounds,  a  certain  conjunction  of  the  stars 
having  come  favourably." 

Even  Morano  doubted  that  so  suddenly  the 
courses  of  the  stars,  which  he  deemed  to  be  gradual, 
should  have  altered  from  antagonism  towards  the 
Professor's  art  into  a  favourable  aspect.  Rodriguez 
sleepily  acknowledged  the  news  and  settled  himself 
to  sleep,  still  sword  in  hand,  when  the  servitor 
repeated  with  as  much  emphasis  as  his  aged  voice 
could  utter,  "With  all  his  household,  sefior." 

"Yes,"  muttered  Rodriguez.     "Farewell." 

And  repeating  again,  "He  takes  his  household 
with  him,"  the  old  man  shuffled  back  from  the  room 
and  hesitatingly  closed  the  door.  Before  the  sound 
of  his  slow  footsteps  had  failed  to  reach  the  room 
Morano  was  asleep  under  his  cross.  Rodriguez  still 
watched  for  a  while  the  shadows  leaping  and  shud- 
dering away  from  the  candle,  riding  over  the  ceil- 
ing, striding  hugely  along  the  walls,  towards  him 
and  from  him,  as  draughts  swayed  the  ruddy  flame ; 
then,  gripping  his  sword  still  more  firmly  in  his  hand, 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE  SUN     iii 

as  though  that  could  avail  against  magic,  he  fell  into 
the  sleq)  of  tired  men. 

No  sound  disturbed  Rodriguez  or  Morano  till 
both  awoke  in  late  morning  upon  the  rocks  of  the 
mountain.  The  sun  had  climbed  over  the  crags  and 
now  shone  on  their  faces.  Rodriguez  was  still  lying 
with  his  sword  gripped  in  his  hand,  but  the  cross 
had  fallen  by  Morano  and  now  lay  on  the  rocks 
beside  him  with  the  handle  of  the  frying-pan  still 
tied  in  its  place  by  string.  A  young,  wild,  wood- 
land squirrel  gambolled  near,  though  there  were  no 
woods  for  it  anywhere  within  sight :  it  leaped  and 
played  as  though  rejoicing  in  youth,  with  such  merri- 
ment as  though  youth  had  but  come  to  it  newly  or 
been  lost  and  restored  again. 

All  over  the  mountain  they  looked  but  there  was 
no  house,  nor  any  sign  of  dweUing  of  man  or  spirit. 


THE    FIFTH    CHRONICLE 


"3 


THE  FIFTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE   RODE   IN  THE   TWILIGHT  AND   SAW  SERAFINA 

O  ODRIGUEZ,  who  loved  philosophy,  turned  his 
*•  ^  mind  at  once  to  the  journey  that  lay  before 
him,  deciding  which  was  the  north;  for  he  knew 
that  it  was  by  the  north  that  he  must  leave  Spain, 
which  he  still  desired  to  leave  since  there  were  no 
wars  in  that  country. 

Morano  knew  not  clearly  what  philosophy  was, 
yet  he  wasted  no  thoughts  upon  the  night  that  was 
gone;  and,  fitting  up  his  frying-pan  immediately,  he 
brought  out  what  was  left  of  his  bacon  and  began 
to  look  for  material  to  make  a  fire.  The  bacon 
lay  waiting  in  the  frying-pan  for  some  while  before 
this  material  was  gathered,  for  nothing  grew  on  the 
mountain  but  a  heath;  and  of  that  there  were  few 
bushes,  scattered  here  and  there. 

Rodriguez,  far  from  ruminating  upon  the  events 
of  the  previous  night,  realised  as  he  watched  these 
preparations  that  he  was  enormously  hungry.  And 
when  Morano  had  kindled  a  fire  and  the  smell  of 
cooking  arose,  he  who  had  held  the  chair  of  magic 
at  Saragossa  was  banished  from  both  their  minds, 

115 


ii6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

although  upon  this  very  spot  they  had  spent  so 
strange  a  night;  but  where  bacon  is,  and  there  be 
hungry  men,  the  things  of  yesterday  are  often  for- 
gotten. 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "we  must  walk  far 
to-day." 

"Indeed,  master,"  said  Morano,  "we  must  push 
on  to  these  wars;  for  you  have  no  castle,  master, 
no  lands,  no  fortune  ..." 

"Come,"  said  Rodriguez. 

Morano  slung  his  frying-pan  behind  him:  they 
had  eaten  up  the  last  of  his  bacon :  he  stood  up,  and 
they  were  ready  for  the  journey.  The  smoke  from 
their  meagre  fire  went  thinly  into  the  air,  the  small 
grey  clouds  of  it  went  slowly  up:  nothing  beside 
remained  to  bid  them  farewell,  or  for  them  to  thank 
for  their  strange  night's  hospitality.  They  climbed 
till  they  reached  the  rugged  crest  of  the  mountain; 
thence  they  saw  a  wide  plain  and  the  morning:  the 
day  was  waiting  for  them. 

The  northern  slope  of  the  mountain  was  wholly 
different  from  that  black  congregation  of  angry 
rocks  through  which  they  had  climbed  by  night  to 
the  House  of  Wonder. 

The  slope  that  now  lay  before  them  was  smooth 
and  grassy,  flowing  before  them  far,  a  gentle  slope 
that  was  soon  to  lend  speed  to  Rodriguez'  feet,  add- 
ing nimbleness  even  to  youth.  Soon,  too,  it  was  to 
lift  onward  the  dull  weight  of  Morano  as  he  fol- 
lowed his  master  towards  unknown  wars,  youth  go- 
ing before  him  like  a  spirit  and  the  good  slope  help- 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  117 

ing  behind.  But  before  they  gave  themselves  to 
that  waiting  journey  they  stood  a  moment  and  looked 
at  the  shining  plain  that  lay  before  them  like  an  open 
page,  on  which  was  the  whole  chronicle  of  that  day's 
wayfaring.  There  was  the  road  they  should  travel 
by,  there  were  the  streams  it  crossed  and  narrow 
woods  they  might  rest  in,  and  dim  on  the  farthest 
edge  was  the  place  they  must  spend  that  night.  It 
was  all,  as  it  were  written,  upon  the  plain  they 
watched,  but  in  a  writing  not  intended  for  them, 
and,  clear  although  it  be,  never  to  be  interpreted  by 
one  of  our  race.  Thus  they  saw  clear,  from  a 
height,  the  road  they  would  go  by,  but  not  one  of 
all  the  events  to  which  it  would  lead  them. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "shall  we  have  more 
adventures  to-day?" 

"I  trust  so,"  said  Rodriguez.  "We  have  far  to 
go,  and  it  will  be  dull  journeying  without  them." 

Morano  turned  his  eyes  from  his  master's  face  and 
looked  back  to  the  plain.  "There,  master,"  he  said, 
"where  our  road  runs  through  a  wood,  will  our 
adventure  be  there,  think  you?  Or  there,  perhaps," 
and  he  waved  his  hand  widely  farther. 

"No,"  said  Rodriguez,  "we  pass  that  in  bright 
daylight." 

"Is  that  not  good  for  adventure?"  said  Morano. 

"The  romances  teach,"  said  Rodriguez,  "that  twi- 
light or  night  are  better.  The  shade  of  deep  woods 
is  favourable,  but  there  are  no  such  woods  on  this 
plain.  When  we  come  to  evening  we  shall  doubtless 
meet    some   adventure,    far   over   there."     And    he 


Ii8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

pointed  to  the  grey  rim  of  the  plain  where  it  started 
climbing  towards  hills. 

"These  are  good  days,"  said  Morano.  He  forgot 
how  short  a  time  ago  he  had  said  regretfully  that 
these  days  were  not  as  the  old  days.  But  our  race, 
speaking  generally,  is  rarely  satisfied  with  the  pres- 
ent, and  Morano's  cheerfulness  had  not  come  from 
his  having  risen  suddenly  superior  to  this  everyday 
trouble  of  ours;  it  came  from  his  having  shifted  his 
gaze  to  the  future.  Two  things  are  highly  tolerable 
to  us,  and  even  alluring,  the  past  and  the  future. 
It  was  only  with  the  present  that  Morano  was  ever 
dissatisfied. 

When  Morano  said  that  the  days  were  good  Rod- 
riguez set  out  to  find  them,  or  at  least  that  one 
that  for  some  while  now  lay  waiting  for  them  on 
the  plain.  He  strode  down  the  slope  at  once  and, 
endowing  nature  with  his  own  impatience,  he  felt 
that  he  heard  the  morning  call  to  him  wistfully. 
Morano  followed. 

For  an  hour  these  refugees  escaping  from  peace 
went  down  the  slope ;  and  in  that  hour  they  did  five 
swift  miles,  miles  that  seemed  to  run  by  them  as 
they  walked,  and  so  they  came  lightly  to  the  level 
plain.  And  in  the  next  hour  they  did  four  miles 
more.  Words  were  few,  either  because  Morano 
brooded  mainly  upon  one  thought,  the  theme  of 
which  was  his  lack  of  bacon,  or  because  he  kept  his 
breath  to  follow  his  master  who,  with  youth  and  the 
morning,  was  coming  out  of  the  hills  at  a  pace  not 
tuned  to  Morano's  forty  years  or  so.     And  at  the 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  119 

end  of  these  nine  miles  Morano  perceived  a  house,  a 
little  way  from  the  road,  on  the  left,  upon  rising 
ground.  A  mile  or  so  ahead  they  saw  the  narrow 
wood  that  they  had  viewed  in  the  morning  from  the 
mountain  running  across  the  plain.  They  saw  now 
by  the  lie  of  the  ground  that  it  probably  followed  a 
stream,  a  pleasant  place  in  which  to  take  the  rest 
demanded  by  Spain  at  noon.  It  was  just  an  hour  to 
noon ;  so  Rodriguez,  keeping  the  road,  told  Morano 
to  join  him  where  it  entered  the  wood  when  he  had 
acquired  his  bacon.  And  then  as  they  parted  a 
thought  occurred  to  Rodriguez,  which  was  that 
bacon  cost  money.  It  was  purely  an  afterthought, 
an  accidental  fancy,  such  as  inspirations  are,  for  he 
had  never  had  to  buy  bacon.  So  he  gave  Morano  a 
fifth  part  of  his  money,  a  large  gold  coin  the  size  of 
one  of  our  five-shilling  pieces,  engraved  of  course 
upon  one  side  with  the  glories  and  honours  of  that 
golden  period  of  Spain,  and  upon  the  other  with  the 
head  of  the  lord  the  King.  It  was  only  by  chance 
he  had  brought  any  at  all;  he  was  not  what  our 
newspapers  will  call,  if  they  ever  care  to  notice  him, 
a  level-headed  business  man.  At  the  sight  of  the 
gold  piece  Morano  bowed,  for  he  felt  this  gift  of 
gold  to  be  an  occasion ;  but  he  trusted  more  for  the 
purchase  of  the  bacon  to  some  few  small  silver  coins 
of  his  own  that  he  kept  among  lumps  of  lard  and 
pieces  of  string. 

And  so  they  parted  for  a  while,  Rodriguez  look- 
ing for  some  great  shadowy  oak  with  moss  under 
it  near  a  stream,  Morano  in  quest  of  bacon. 


I20  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

When  Rodiguez  entered  the  wood  he  found  his 
oak,  but  it  was  not  such  an  oak  as  he  cared  to  rest 
beneath  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  nor  would  you 
have  done  so,  my  reader,  even  though  you  have  been 
to  the  wars  and  seen  many  a  pretty  mess;  for  four 
of  la  Garda  were  by  it  and  were  arranging  to  hang 
a  man  from  the  best  of  the  branches. 

"La  Garda  again,"  said  Rodriguez  nearly  aloud. 

His  eye  drooped,  his  look  was  listless,  he  gazed 
at  other  things;  while  a  glance  that  you  had  not 
noticed,  flashed  slantingly  at  la  Garda,  satisfied 
Rodriguez  that  all  four  were  strangers :  then  he 
walked  straight  towards  them  merrily.  The  man 
they  proposed  to  hang  was  a  stranger  too.  He 
appeared  at  first  to  be  as  stout  as  Morano,  and  he 
was  nearly  half  a  foot  taller,  but  his  stoutness  turned 
out  to  be  sheer  muscle.  The  broad  man  was  clothed 
in  old  brown  leather  and  had  blue  eyes. 

Now  there  was  something  about  the  poise  of 
Rodriguez'  young  head  which  gave  him  an  air  not 
unlike  that  which  the  King  himself  sometimes  wore 
when  he  went  courting.  It  suited  his  noble  sword 
and  his  merry  plume.  When  la  Garda  saw  him 
they  were  all  politeness  at  once,  and  invited  him  to 
see  the  hanging,  for  which  Rodriguez  thanked  them 
with  amplest  courtesy. 

"It  is  not  a  bull-fight,"  said  the  chief  of  la  Garda 
almost  apologetically.  But  Rodriguez  waved  aside 
his  deprecations  and  declared  himself  charmed  at 
the  prospect  of  a  hanging. 

Bear  with  me,  reader,  while  I  champion  a  bad 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  121 

cause  and  seek  to  palliate  what  is  inexcusable.  As 
we  travel  about  the  world  on  our  way  through  life 
we  meet  and  pass  here  and  there,  in  peace  or  in  war, 
other  men,  fellow-travellers :  and  sometimes  there  is 
no  more  than  time  for  a  glance,  eye  to  eye.  And  in 
that  glance  you  see  the  sort  of  man:  and  chiefly 
there  are  two  sorts.  The  one  sort  always  brooding, 
always  planning;  mean,  silent  men,  collecting  prop- 
erties and  money;  keeping  the  law  on  their  side, 
keeping  everything  on  their  side ;  except  women  and 
heaven,  and  the  late,  leisurely  judgment  of  simple 
people :  and  the  others  merry  folk,  whose  eyes 
twinkle,  whose  money  flies,  who  will  sooner  laugh 
than  plan,  who  seem  to  inherit  rightfully  the  happi- 
ness that  the  others  plot  for,  and  fail  to  come  by 
with  all  their  schemes.  In  the  man  who  was  to 
provide  the  entertainment  Rodriguez  recognised  the 
second  kind. 

Now  even  though  the  law  had  caught  a  saint  that 
had  strayed  too  far  outside  the  boundary  of  Heaven, 
and  desired  to  hang  him,  Rodriguez  knew  that  it 
was  his  duty  to  help  the  law  while  help  was  needed, 
and  to  applaud  after  the  thing  was  done.  The  law 
to  Rodriguez  was  the  most  sacred  thing  man  had 
made,  if  indeed  it  were  not  divine;  but  since  the 
privilege  that  two  days  ago  had  afforded  him  of 
studying  it  more  closely,  it  appeared  to  him  the 
blindest,  silliest  thing  with  which  he  had  had  to  do 
since  the  kittens  were  drowned  that  his  cat  Tabi- 
tharina  had  had  at  Arguento  Harez. 

It  was  in  this  deplorable  state  of  mind  that  Rod- 


122  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

riguez'  glance  fell  on  the  merry  eyes  and  the  solemn 
predicament  of  the  man  in  the  leather  coat,  standing 
pinioned  under  a  long  branch  of  the  oak-tree:  and 
he  determined  from  that  moment  to  disappoint  la 
Garda  and,  I  fear  also,  my  reader,  perhaps  to  dis- 
appoint you,  of  the  hanging  that  they  at  least  had 
promised  themselves. 

"Think  you,"  said  Rodriguez,  "that  for  so  stout 
a  knave  this  branch  of  yours  suffices?" 

Now  it  was  an  excellent  branch.  But  it  was  not 
so  much  Rodriguez'  words  as  the  anxious  way  in 
which  he  looked  at  the  branch  that  aroused  the 
anxieties  of  la  Garda :  and  soon  they  were  looking 
about  to  find  a  better  tree ;  and  when  four  men  start 
doing  this  in  a  wood  time  quickly  passes.  Mean- 
while Morano  drew  near,  and  Rodriguez  went  to 
meet  him. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  all  out  of  breath,  "they 
had  no  bacon.  But  I  got  these  two  bottles  of  wine. 
It  is  strong  wine,  which  is  a  rare  deluder  of  the 
senses,  which  will  need  to  be  deluded  if  we  are  to 
go  hungry," 

Rodriguez  was  about  to  cut  short  Morano's  chatter 
when  he  thought  of  a  use  for  the  wine,  and  was 
silent  a  moment.  And  as  he  pondered  Morano 
looked  up  and  saw  la  Garda  and  at  the  same  time 
perceived  the  situation,  for  he  had  as  quick  an  eye 
for  a  bad  business  as  any  man. 

"No  one  with  the  horses,"  was  his  comment ;  for 
they  were  tethered  a  little  apart.  But  Rodriguez' 
mind  had  already  explored  a  surer  method  than  the 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  123 

one  that  Morano  seemed  to  be  contemplating.  This 
method  he  told  Morano.  And  now,  from  little  tugs 
that  they  were  giving  to  the  doubled  rope  that  hung 
over  the  branch  of  the  oak-tree,  it  was  clear  enough 
that  the  men  of  the  law  were  returning  to  their 
confidence  in  that  very  sufficient  branch. 

They  looked  up  with  questions  ripe  to  drop  from 
their  lips  when  they  saw  Rodriguez  returning  with 
Morano.  But  before  one  of  them  spoke  Morano 
flung  to  them  from  far  off  a  little  piece  of  his 
wisdom:  for  cast  a  truth  into  an  occasion  and  it 
will  always  trouble  the  waters,  usually  stirring  up 
contradiction,  but  always  bringing  something  to  the 
surface. 

"Sefiores,"  he  said,  "no  man  can  enjoy  a  hang- 
ing with  a  dry  throat." 

Thus  he  turned  their  attention  a  while  from  the 
business  in  hand,  changing  their  thoughts  from  the 
stout  neck  of  the  prisoner  to  their  own  throats, 
wondering  were  they  dry;  and  you  do  not  wonder 
long  about  this  in  the  south  without  finding  that 
what  you  feared  is  true.  And  then  he  let  them  see 
the  two  great  bottles,  all  full  of  wine,  for  the  inven- 
tion of  the  false  bottom  that  gives  to  our  champagne- 
bottles  the  place  they  rightly  hold  among  famous 
deceptions  had  not  as  yet  been  discovered. 

"It  is  true,"  said  la  Garda.  And  Rodriguez  made 
Morano  put  one  of  the  bottles  away  in  a  piece  of  a 
sack  that  he  carried :  and  when  la  Garda  saw  one  of 
the  two  bottles  disappear  it  somehow  decided  them 
to  have  the  other,  though  how  this  came  to  be  so 


124  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

there  is  no  saying;  and  thus  the  hanging  was  post- 
poned again. 

Now  the  drink  was  a  yellow  wine,  sweet  and  heavy 
and  stronger  than  our  port;  only  our  whisky  could 
out-triumph  it,  but  there  in  the  warm  south  it  an- 
swered its  purpose.  Rodriguez  beckoned  Morano 
up  and  offered  the  bottle  to  one  of  la  Garda;  but 
scarcely  had  he  put  it  to  his  lips  when  Rodriguez 
bade  him  stop,  saying  that  he  had  had  his  share. 
And  he  did  the  same  with  the  next  man. 

Now  there  be  few  things  indeed  which  la  Garda 
resent  more  than  meagre  hospitality  in  the  matter 
of  drink,  and  with  all  their  wits  striving  to  cope  with 
this  vicious  defect  in  Rodriguez,  as  they  rightly  or 
wrongly  regarded  it,  how  should  they  have  any  to 
spare  for  obvious  precautions?  As  the  third  man 
drank,  Rodriguez  turned  to  speak  to  Morano;  and 
the  representative  of  the  law  took  such  advantage  of 
an  opportunity  that  he  feared  to  be  fleeting,  that 
when  Rodriguez  turned  round  again  the  bottle  was 
just  half  empty.  Rodriguez  had  timed  it  very 
nicely. 

Next  Rodriguez  put  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  held 
it  there  a  little  time,  while  the  fourth  man  of  the  law, 
who  was  guarding  the  prisoner,  watched  Rodriguez 
wistfully,  and  afterwards  Morano,  who  took  the  bot- 
tle next.    Yet  neither  Rodriguez  nor  Morano  drank. 

"You  can  finish  the  bottle,"  said  Rodriguez  to  this 
anxious  watcher,  who  came  forward  eagerly  though 
full  of  doubts,  which  changed  to  warm  feelings  of 
exuberant  gratitude  when  he  found  how  much  re- 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  125 

malned.  Thus  he  obtained  not  much  less  than  two 
tumblerfuls  of  wine  that,  as  I  have  said,  was  stronger 
than  port;  and  noon  was  nearing  and  it  was  spring 
in  Spain.  And  then  he  returned  to  guard  his  pris- 
oner under  the  oak-tree  and  lay  down  there  on  the 
moss,  remembering  that  it  was  his  duty  to  keep 
awake.  And  afterwards  with  one  hand  he  took 
hold  of  a  rope  that  bound  the  prisoner's  ankles,  so 
that  he  might  still  guard  his  prisoner  even  though 
he  should  fall  asleep. 

Now  two  of  the  men  had  had  litde  more  than  the 
full  of  a  sherry  glass  each.  To  these  Morano  made 
signs  that  there  was  another  bottle,  and,  coming 
round  behind  his  master,  he  covertly  uncorked  it  and 
gave  them  their  heart's  desire ;  and  a  little  was  left 
over  for  the  man  who  drank  third  on  the  first  oc- 
casion. And  presently  the  spirits  of  all  four  of  la 
Garda  grew  haughty  and  forgot  their  humble  bodies, 
and  would  fain  have  gone  forth  to  dwell  with  the 
sons  of  light,  while  their  bodies  lay  on  the  moss  and 
the  sun  grew  warmer  and  warmer,  shining  dappled 
in  amongst  the  small  green  leaves.  All  seemed  still 
but  for  the  winged  insects  flashing  through  shafts 
of  the  sunlight  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  trees  and 
disappearing  again  like  infinitesimal  meteors.  But 
our  concern  is  with  the  thoughts  of  man,  of  which 
deeds  are  but  the  shadows :  wherever  these  are  active 
it  is  wrong  to  say  all  is  still ;  for  whether  they  cast 
their  shadows,  which  are  actions,  or  whether  they 
remain  a  force  not  visibly  stirring  matter,  they  are 
the  source  of  the  tales  we  write  and  the  lives  we 


126  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

lead;  it  is  they  that  gave  History  her  material  and 
they  that  bade  her  work  it  up  into  books. 

And  thoughts  were  very  active  about  that  oak-tree. 
For  while  the  thoughts  of  la  Garda  arose  like  dawn, 
and  disappeared  into  mists,  their  prisoner  was  silently 
living  through  the  sunny  days  of  his  life,  which  are 
at  no  time  quite  lost  to  us,  and  which  flash  vivid 
and  bright  and  near  when  memory  touches  them, 
herself  awakened  by  the  nearness  of  death.  He 
lived  again  days  far  from  the  day  that  had  brought 
him  where  he  stood.  He  drew  from  those  days 
(that  is  to  say)  that  delight,  that  essence  of  hours, 
that  something  which  we  call  life.  The  sun,  the 
wind,  the  rough  sand,  the  splash  of  the  sea,  on  the 
star-fish,  and  all  the  things  that  it  feels  during  its 
span,  are  stored  in  something  like  its  memory,  and 
are  what  we  call  its  life  :  it  is  the  same  with  all  of  us. 
Life  is  feeling.  The  prisoner  from  the  store  of  his 
memory  was  taking  all  he  had.  His  head  was  lifted, 
he  was  gazing  northwards,  far  further  than  his  eyes 
could  see,  to  shining  spaces  in  great  woods;  and 
there  his  threatened  being  walked  in  youth,  with 
steps  such  as  spirits  take,  over  immortal  flowers, 
which  were  dim  and  faint  but  unfading  because  they 
lived  on  in  memory.  In  memory  he  walked  with 
some  who  were  now  far  from  his  footsteps.  And, 
seen  through  the  gloaming  of  that  perilous  day,  how 
bright  did  those  far  days  appear !  Did  they  not  seem 
sunnier  than  they  really  were?  No,  reader;  for  all 
the  radiance  that  glittered  so  late  in  his  mind  was 
drawn   from  those  very  days;   it  was   their  own 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  127 

brightness  that  was  shining  now:  we  are  not  done 
with  the  days  that  were  as  soon  as  their  sunsets  have 
faded,  but  a  Hght  remains  from  them  and  grows 
fairer  and  fairer,  Hke  an  afterglow  Hngering  among 
tremendous  peaks  above  immeasurable  slopes  of 
snow. 

The  prisoner  had  scarcely  noticed  Rodriguez  or 
his  servant,  any  more  than  he  noticed  his  captors; 
for  there  come  an  intensity  to  those  who  walk  near 
death  that  makes  them  a  little  alien  from  other  men, 
life  flaring  up  in  them  at  the  last  into  so  grand  a 
flame  that  the  lives  of  the  others  seem  a  little  cold 
and  dim  where  they  dwell  remote  from  that  sunset 
that  we  call  mortality.  So  he  looked  silently  at  the 
days  that  were  as  they  came  dancing  back  again  to 
him  from  where  they  had  long  lain  lost  in  chasms 
of  time,  to  which  they  had  slipped  over  dark  edges 
of  years.  Smiling  they  came,  but  all  wistfully 
anxious,  as  though  their  errand  were  paramount  and 
their  span  short :  he  saw  them  cluster  about  him, 
running  now,  bringing  their  tiny  gifts,  and  scarcely 
heard  the  heavy  sigh  of  his  guard  as  Rodriguez 
gagged  him  and  Morano  tied  him  up. 

Had  Rodriguez  now  released  the  prisoner  they 
could  have  been  three  to  three,  in  the  event  of  things 
going  wrong  with  the  sleep  of  la  Garda;  but,  since 
in  the  same  time  they  could  gag  and  bind  another, 
the  odds  would  be  the  same  at  two  to  two,  and 
Rodriguez  preferred  this  to  the  slight  uncertainties 
that  would  be  connected  with  the  entry  of  another 
partner.     They  accordingly  gagged  the  next  man 


128  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

and  bound  his  wrists  and  ankles.  And  that  Spanish 
wine  held  good  with  the  other  two  and  bound  them 
far  down  among  the  deeps  of  dreams :  and  so  it 
should,  for  it  was  of  a  vine  that  grew  in  the  vales 
of  Spain  and  had  ripened  in  one  of  the  years  of  the 
golden  age. 

They  bound  one  as  easily  as  they  had  bound  the 
other  two;  and  the  last  Rodriguez  watched  while 
Morano  cut  the  ropes  off  the  prisoner,  for  he  had 
run  out  of  bits  of  twine  and  all  other  improvisa- 
tions. With  these  ropes  he  ran  back  to  his  master, 
and  they  tied  up  the  last  prisoner  but  did  not  gag 
him. 

"Shall  we  gag  him,  master,  like  the  rest?"  said 
Morano. 

"No,"  said  Rodriguez.    "He  has  nothing  to  say." 

And  though  this  remark  turned  out  to  be  strictly 
untrue,  it  well  enough  answered  its  purpose. 

And  then  they  saw  standing  before  them  the  man 
they  had  freed.  And  he  bowed  to  Rodriguez  like 
one  that  had  never  bowed  before.  I  do  not  mean 
that  he  bowed  with  awkwardness,  like  imitative 
men  unused  to  politeness,  but  he  bowed  as  the  oak 
bows  to  the  woodman;  he  stood  straight,  looking 
Rodriguez  in  the  eyes,  then  he  bowed  as  though  he 
had  let  his  spirit  break,  which  allowed  him  to  bow 
to  never  a  man  before.  Thus,  if  my  pen  has  been 
able  dimly  to  tell  of  it,  thus  bowed  the  man  in  the  old 
leathern  jacket.  And  Rodriguez  bowed  to  him  in 
answer  with  the  elegance  that  they  that  had  dwelt 
at  Arguento  Harez  had  slowly  drawn  from  the  ages. 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  129 

"Senor,  your  name,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Lord  of  Arguento  Harez,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Sefior,"  he  said,  "being  a  busy  man,  I  have 
seldom  time  to  pray.  And  the  blessed  Saints,  being 
more  busy  than  I,  I  think  seldom  hear  my  prayers: 
yet  your  name  shall  go  up  to  them.  I  will  often  tell 
it  them  quietly  in  the  forest,  and  not  on  their  holy 
days  when  bells  are  ringing  and  loud  prayers  fill 
Heaven.     It  may  be  .  .  ." 

"Seiior,"  Rodriguez  said,  "I  profoundly  thank 
you." 

Even  in  these  days,  when  bullets  are  often  thicker 
than  prayers,  we  are  not  quite  thankless  for  the 
prayers  of  others :  in  those  days  they  were  what 
"closing  quotations"  are  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
ink  in  Fleet  Street,  machinery  in  the  Midlands; 
common  but  valued;  and  Rodriguez'  thanks  were 
sincere. 

And  now  that  the  curses  of  the  ungagged  one  of 
la  Garda  were  growing  monotonous,  Rodriguez 
turned  to  Morano. 

"Ungag  the  rest,"  he  said,  "and  let  them  talk  to 
each  other." 

"Master,"  Morano  muttered,  feeling  that  there 
was  enough  noise  already  for  a  small  wood,  but  he 
went  and  did  as  he  was  ordered.  And  Rodriguez 
was  justified  of  his  humane  decision,  for  the  pent 
thoughts  of  all  three  found  expression  together  and, 
all  four  now  talking  at  once,  mitigated  any  bitter- 
ness there  may  have  been  in  those  solitary  curses. 
And  now  Rodriguez  could  talk  undisturbed. 


130  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"Whither?"  said  the  stranger. 

"To  the  wars,"  said  Rodriguez,  "if  wars  there 
be." 

"Aye,"  said  the  stranger,  "there  be  always  wars 
somewhere.     By  which  road  go  you?" 

"North,"  said  Rodriguez,  and  he  pointed.  The 
stranger  turned  his  eyes  to  the  way  Rodriguez 
pointed. 

"That  brings  you  to  the  forest,"  he  said,  "unless 
you  go  far  around,  as  many  do." 

"What  forest?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"The  great  forest  named  Shadow  Valley,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"How  far?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Forty  miles,"  said  the  stranger. 

Rodriguez  looked  at  la  Garda  and  then  at  their 
horses,  and  thought.  He  must  be  far  from  la  Garda 
by  nightfall. 

"It  is  not  easy  to  pass  through  Shadow  Valley," 
said  the  stranger. 

"Is  it  not?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Have  you  a  gold  great  piece?"  the  stranger  said. 

Rodriguez  held  out  one  of  his  remaining  four: 
the  stranger  took  it.  And  then  he  began  to  rub  it 
on  a  stone,  and  continued  to  rub  while  Rodriguez 
watched  in  silence,  until  the  image  of  the  lord  the 
King  was  gone  and  the  face  of  the  coin  was  scratchy 
and  shiny  and  flat.  And  then  he  produced  from  a 
pocket  or  pouch  in  his  jacket  a  graving  tool  with  a 
round  wooden  handle,  which  he  took  in  the  palm  of 
his  hand,  and  the  edge  of  the  steel  came  out  between 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  131 

his  forefinger  and  thumb :  and  with  this  he  cut  at  the 
coin.  And  Morano  rejoined  them  from  his  merci- 
ful mission  and  stood  and  wondered  at  the  cutting. 
And  while  he  cut  they  talked. 

They  did  not  ask  him  how  he  came  to  be  chosen 
for  hanging,  because  in  every  country  there  are 
about  a  hundred  individuahsts,  varying  to  perhaps 
half  a  hundred  in  poor  ages.  They  go  their  hundred 
ways,  or  their  half-dozen  ways ;  and  there  is  a  hun- 
dred and  first  way,  or  a  seventh  way,  which  is  the 
way  that  is  cut  for  the  rest :  and  if  some  of  the  rest 
catch  one  of  the  hundred,  or  one  of  the  six,  they 
naturally  hang  him,  if  they  have  a  rope,  and  if 
hanging  is  the  custom  of  the  country,  for  different 
countries  use  different  methods.  And  you  saw  by 
this  man's  eyes  that  he  was  one  of  the  hundred. 
Rodriguez  therefore  only  sought  to  know  how  he 
came  to  be  caught. 

"La  Garda  found  you,  sefior?"  he  said. 

"As  you  see,"  said  the  stranger.  "I  came  too  far 
from  my  home." 

"You  were  travelling?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Shopping,"  he  said. 

At  this  word  Morano's  interest  awakened  wide. 
"Sefior,"  he  said,  "what  is  the  right  price  for  a  bottle 
of  this  wine  that  la  Garda  drink?" 

"I  know  not,"  said  the  man  in  the  brown  jacket; 
"they  give  me  these  things." 

"Where  is  your  home,  sefior?"  Rodriguez  asked. 

"It  is  Shadow  Valley,"  he  said. 

One  never  saw  Rodriguez  fail  to  understand  any- 


132  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

thing:  if  he  could  not  clear  a  situation  up  he  did 
not  struggle  with  it.  Morano  rubbed  his  chin:  he 
had  heard  of  Shadow  Valley  only  dimly,  for  all  the 
travellers  he  had  known  out  of  the  north  had  gone 
round  it.  Rodriguez  and  Morano  bent  their  heads 
and  watched  a  design  that  was  growing  out  of  the 
gold.  And  as  the  design  grew  under  the  hand  of  the 
strange  worker  he  began  to  talk  of  the  horses.  He 
spoke  as  though  his  plans  had  been  clearly  estab- 
lished by  edict,  and  as  though  no  others  could  be. 

"When  I  have  gone  with  two  horses,"  he  said, 
"ride  hard  with  the  other  two  till  you  reach  the 
village  named  Lowlight,  and  take  them  to  the  forge 
of  Fernandez  the  smith,  where  one  will  shoe  them 
who  is  not  Fernandez." 

And  he  waved  his  hand  northwards.  There  was 
only  one  road.  Then  all  his  attention  fell  back  again 
to  his  work  on  the  gold  coin;  and  when  those  blue 
eyes  were  turned  away  there  seemed  nothing  left  to 
question.  And  now  Rodriguez  saw  the  design  was 
a  crown,  a  plain  gold  circlet  with  oak  leaves  rising 
up  from  it.  And  this  woodland  emblem  stood  up 
out  of  the  gold,  for  the  worker  had  hollowed  the 
coin  away  all  around  it,  and  was  sloping  it  up  to  the 
edge.  Little  was  said  by  the  watchers  in  the  wonder 
of  seeing  the  work,  for  no  craft  is  very  far  from 
the  line  beyond  which  is  magic,  and  the  man  in  the 
leather  coat  was  clearly  a  craftsman :  and  he  said 
nothing  for  he  worked  at  a  craft.  And  when  the 
arboreal  crown  was  finished,  and  its  edges  were 
straight  and  sharp,  an  hour  had  passed  since  he 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  133 

began  near  noon.  Then  he  drilled  a  hole  near  the 
rim  and,  drawing  a  thin  green  ribbon  from  his 
pocket,  he  passed  it  through  the  hole  and,  rising, 
he  suddenly  hung  it  round  Rodriguez'  neck. 

"Wear  it  thus,"  he  said,  "while  you  go  through 
Shadow  Valley." 

As  he  said  this  he  stepped  back  among  the  trees, 
and  Rodriguez  followed  to  thank  him.  Not  finding 
him  behind  the  tree  where  he  thought  to  find  him, 
he  walked  round  several  others,  and  Morano  joined 
his  search;  but  the  stranger  had  vanished.  When 
they  returned  again  to  the  little  clearing  they  heard 
sounds  of  movement  in  the  wood,  and  a  little  way 
off  where  the  four  horses  had  grazed  there  were 
now  only  two,  which  were  standing  there  with  their 
heads  up. 

"We  must  ride,  Morano,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Ride,  master?"  said  Morano  dolefully. 

"If  we  walk  away,"  said  Rodriguez,  "they  will 
walk  after  us." 

"They"  meant  la  Garda.  It  was  unnecessary 
for  him  to  tell  Morano  what  I  thus  tell  the  reader, 
for  in  the  wood  it  was  hard  to  hear  anyone  else, 
while  to  think  of  anyone  else  was  out  of  the  question. 

"What  shall  I  do  to  them,  master?"  said  Morano. 

They  were  now  standing  close  to  their  captives 
and  this  simple  question  calmed  the  four  men's 
curses,  all  of  a  sudden,  like  shutting  the  door  on  a 
storm. 

"Leave  them,"  Rodriguez  said.  And  la  Garda's 
spirits  ro.se  and  they  cursed  again. 


134  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"Ah.    To  die  in  the  wood,"  said  Morano. 

"No,"  said  Rodriguez;  and  he  walked  towards 
the  horses.  And  something  in  that  "No"  sounding 
almost  contemptuous,  Morano's  feelings  were  hurt, 
and  he  blurted  out  to  his  master  "But  how  can  they 
get  away  to  get  their  food  ?  ?  It  is  good  knots  that 
I  tie,  master." 

"Morano,"  Rodriguez  said,  "I  remember  ten 
ways  in  the  books  of  romance  whereby  bound  men 
untie  themselves;  and  doubtless  one  or  two  more  I 
have  read  and  forgot ;  and  there  may  be  other  ways 
in  the  books  that  I  have  not  read,  besides  any  way 
that  there  be  of  which  no  books  tell.  And  in  addi- 
tion to  these  ways,  one  of  them  may  draw  a  com- 
rade's sword  with  his  teeth  and  thus  ..." 

"Shall  I  pull  out  their  teeth?"  said  Morano. 

"Ride,"  said  Rodriguez,  for  they  were  now  come 
to  the  horses.  And  sorrowfully  Morano  looked  at 
the  horse  that  was  to  be  his,  as  a  man  might  look  at  a 
small,  uncomfortable  boat  that  is  to  carry  him  far 
upon  a  stormy  day.  And  then  Rodriguez  helped  him 
into  the  saddle. 

"Can  you  stay  there?"  Rodriguez  said.  "We 
have  far  to  go." 

"Master,"  Morano  answered,  "these  hands  can 
hold  till  evening." 

And  then  Rodriguez  mounted,  leaving  Morano 
gripping  the  high  front  of  the  saddle  with  his  large 
brown  hands.  But  as  soon  as  the  horses  started  he 
got  a  grip  with  his  heels  as  well,  and  later  on  with 
his  knees.     Rodriguez  led  the  way  on  to  the  strag- 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  135 

gling  road  and  was  soon  galloping  northwards,  while 
Morano's  heels  kept  his  horse  up  close  to  his 
master's.  Morano  rode  as  though  trained  in  the 
same  school  that  some  while  later  taught  Macaulay's 
equestrian,  who  rode  with  "loose  rein  and  bloody 
spur."  Yet  the  miles  went  swiftly  by  as  they  gal- 
loped on  soft  white  dust,  which  lifted  and  settled, 
some  of  it,  back  on  the  lazy  road,  while  some  of  it 
was  breathed  by  Morano.  The  gold  coin  on  the 
green  silk  ribbon  flapped  up  and  down  as  Rodriguez 
rode,  till  he  stuffed  it  inside  his  clothing  and  re- 
membered no  more  about  it.  Once  they  saw  before 
them  the  man  they  had  snatched  from  the  noose : 
he  was  going  hard  and  leading  a  loose  horse.  And 
then  where  the  road  bent  round  a  low  hill  he  gal- 
loped out  of  sight  and  they  saw  him  no  more.  He 
had  the  loose  horse  to  change  on  to  as  soon  as  the 
other  was  tired :  they  had  no  prospect  of  overtaking 
him.  And  so  he  passed  out  of  their  minds  as  their 
host  had  done  who  went  away  with  his  household 
to  Saragossa. 

At  first  Rodriguez'  mandolin,  that  was  always 
slung  on  his  back,  bumped  up  and  down  uncom- 
fortably ;  but  he  eased  it  by  altering  the  strap :  small 
things  like  this  bring  contentment.  And  then  he 
settled  down  to  ride.  But  no  contentment  came  near 
Morano  nor  did  he  look  for  it.  On  the  first  day  of 
his  wanderings  he  had  worn  his  master's  clothes, 
which  has  been  an  experience  standing  somewhat 
where  toothache  does,  which  is  somewhere  about 
half-way  between  discomfort  and  agony.     On  the 


136  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

second  day  he  had  climbed  at  the  end  of  a  weary 
journey  over  those  sharp  rocks  whose  shape  was 
adapted  so  ill  to  his  body.  On  the  third  day  he  was 
riding.  He  did  not  look  for  comfort.  But  he  met 
discomfort  with  an  easy  resignation  that  almost  de- 
feated the  intention  of  Satan  who  sends  it,  unless — 
as  is  very  likely — it  be  from  Heaven.  And  in  spite 
of  all  discomforts  he  gaily  followed  Rodriguez.  In  a 
thousand  days  at  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and  Knight 
no  two  were  so  different  to  Morano  that  one  stood 
out  from  the  other,  or  any  from  the  rest.  It  was  all 
as  though  one  day  were  repeated  again  and  again; 
and  at  some  point  in  this  monotonous  repetition,  like 
a  milestone  shaped  as  the  rest  on  a  perfectly  feature- 
less road,  life  would  end  and  the  meaningless  repeti- 
tion stop :  and  looking  back  on  it  there  would  only  be 
one  day  to  see,  or,  if  he  could  not  look  back,  it 
would  be  all  gone  for  nothing.  And  then,  into  that 
one  day  that  he  was  living  on  in  the  gloaming  of 
that  grim  inn,  Rodriguez  had  appeared,  and  Morano 
had  known  him  for  one  of  those  wandering  lights 
that  sometimes  make  sudden  day  among  the  stars. 
He  knew — no,  he  felt — that  by  following  him, 
yesterday  to-day  and  to-morrow  would  be  three 
separate  possessions  in  memory.  Morano  gladly 
gave  up  that  one  dull  day  he  was  living  for  the 
new  strange  days  through  which  Rodriguez  was 
sure  to  lead  him.  Gladly  he  left  it:  if  this  be  not 
true  how  then  has  a  man  with  a  dream  led  thousands 
to  follow  his  fancy,  from  the  Crusades  to  whatever 
gay  madness  be  the  fashion  when  this  is  read?    As 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  137 

they  galloped  the  scent  of  the  flowers  rushed  into 
Rodriguez'  nostrils,  while  Morano  mainly  breathed 
the  dust  from  the  hooves  of  his  master's  horse.  But 
the  quest  was  favoured  the  more  by  the  scent  of  the 
flowers  inspiring  its  leader's  fancies.  So  Morano 
grained  even  from  this. 

In  the  first  hour  they  shortened  by  fifteen  miles 
the  length  of  their  rambling  quest.  In  the  next  hour 
they  did  five  miles ;  and  in  the  third  hour  ten.  After 
this  they  rode  slowly.  The  sun  was  setting.  Morano 
regarded  the  sunset  with  delight,  for  it  seemed  to 
promise  jovially  the  end  of  his  sufferings,  which 
except  for  brief  periods  when  they  went  on  foot,  to 
rest — as  Rodriguez  said — the  horses,  had  been  con- 
tinuous and  even  increasing  since  they  started. 
Rodriguez,  perhaps  a  little  weary  too,  drew  from  the 
sunset  a  more  sombre  feeling,  as  sensitive  minds  do : 
he  responded  to  its  farewell,  he  felt  its  beauty,  and 
as  little  winds  turned  cool  and  the  shine  of  blades  of 
grass  faded,  making  all  the  plain  dimmer,  he  heard, 
or  believed  he  heard,  further  off  than  he  could  see, 
sounds  on  the  plain  beyond  ridges,  in  hollows,  be- 
hind clumps  of  bushes;  as  though  small  creatures  all 
unknown  to  his  learning  played  instruments  cut  from 
reeds  upon  unmapped  streams.  In  this  hour,  among 
these  fancies,  Rodriguez  saw  clear  on  a  hill  the 
white  walls  of  the  village  of  Lowlight.  And  now 
they  began  to  notice  that  a  great  round  moon  was 
shining.  The  sunset  grew  dimmer  and  the  moon- 
light stole  in  softly,  as  a  cat  might  walk  through 
great  doors  on  her  silent  feet  into  a  throne-room 


138  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

just  as  the  king  had  gone:  and  they  entered  the 
village  slowly  in  the  perfect  moment  of  twilight. 

The  round  horizon  was  brimming  with  a  pale  but 
magical  colour,  welling  up  to  the  tips  of  trees  and 
the  battlements  of  white  towers.  Earth  seemed  a 
mysterious  cup  overfull  of  this  pigment  of  wonder. 
Clouds  wandering  low,  straying  far  from  their  azure 
fields,  were  dipped  in  it.  The  towers  of  Lowlight 
turned  slowly  rose  in  that  light,  and  glowed  together 
with  the  infinite  gloaming,  so  that  for  this  brief  hour 
the  things  of  man  were  wed  with  the  things  of 
eternity.  It  was  into  this  wide,  pale  fiame  of  setherial 
rose  that  the  moon  came  stealing  like  a  magician  on 
tip-toe,  to  enchant  the  tips  of  the  trees,  low  clouds 
and  the  towers  of  Lowlight.  A  blue  light  from 
beyond  our  world  touched  the  pink  that  is  Earth's 
at  evening :  and  what  was  strange  and  a  matter  for 
hushed  voices,  marvellous  but  yet  of  our  earth, 
became  at  that  touch  unearthly.  All  in  a  moment  it 
was,  and  Rodriguez  gasped  to  see  it.  Even  Morano's 
eyes  grew  round  with  the  coming  of  wonder,  or 
with  some  dim  feeling  that  an  unnoticed  moment 
had  made  all  things  strange  and  new. 

For  some  moments  the  spell  of  moonlight  on  sun- 
light hovered :  the  air  was  brimming  and  quivering 
with  it :  magic  touched  earth.  For  some  moments, 
some  thirty  beats  of  a  heron's  wing,  had  the  angels 
sung  to  men,  had  their  songs  gone  earthward  into 
that  rosy  glow,  gliding  past  layers  of  faintly  tinted 
cloud,  like  moths  at  dusk  towards  a  briar-rose;  in 
those  few  moments  men  would  have  known  their 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  139 

language.  Rodriguez  reined  in  his  horse  in  the 
heavy  silence  and  waited.  For  what  he  waited  he 
knew  not:  some  unearthly  answer  perhaps  to  his 
questioning  thoughts  that  had  wandered  far  from 
earth,  though  no  words  came  to  him  with  which  to 
ask  their  question  and  he  did  not  know  what  question 
they  would  ask.  He  was  all  vibrating  with  the 
human  longing:  I  know  not  what  it  is,  but  per- 
haps philosophers  know.  He  sat  there  waiting  while 
a  late  bird  sailed  homeward,  sat  while  Morano 
wondered.    And  nothing  spake  from  anywhere. 

And  now  a  dog  began  to  notice  the  moon:  now 
a  child  cried  suddenly  tliat  had  been  dragged  back 
from  the  street,  where  it  had  wandered  at  bed- 
time :  an  old  dog  rose  from  where  it  had  lain  in  the 
sun  and  feebly  yet  confidently  scratched  at  a  door: 
a  cat  peered  round  a  corner :  a  man  spoke  :  Rodriguez 
knew  there  would  be  no  answer  now. 

Rodriguez  hit  his  horse,  the  tired  animal  went 
forward,  and  he  and  Morano  rode  slowly  up  the 
street. 

Doha  Serafina  of  the  Valley  of  Dawnlight  had 
left  the  heat  of  the  room  that  looked  on  the  fields, 
and  into  which  the  sun  had  all  day  been  streaming, 
and  had  gone  at  sunset  to  sit  in  the  balcony  that 
looked  along  the  street.  Often  she  would  do  this 
at  sunset;  but  she  rather  dreamed  as  she  sat  there 
than  watched  the  street,  for  all  that  it  had  to  show 
she  knew  without  glancing.  Evening  after  evening 
as  soon  as  winter  was  over  the  neighbour  would 
come  from  next  door  and  stretch  himself  and  yawn 


140  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

and  sit  on  a  chair  by  his  doorway,  and  the  neighbour 
from  opposite  would  saunter  across  the  way  to  him, 
and  they  would  talk  with  eagerness  of  the  sale  of 
cattle,  and  sometimes,  but  more  coldly,  of  the  affairs 
of  kings.  She  knew,  but  cared  not  to  know,  just 
when  the  two  old  men  would  begin  their  talk.  She 
knew  who  owned  every  dog  that  stretched  itself  in 
the  dust  until  chilly  winds  blew  in  the  dusk  and  they 
rose  up  dissatisfied.  She  knew  the  affairs  of  that 
street  like  an  old,  old  lesson  taught  drearily,  and  her 
thoughts  went  far  away  to  vales  of  an  imagination 
where  they  met  with  many  another  maiden  fancy, 
and  they  all  danced  there  together  through  the  long 
twilight  in  Spring.  And  then  her  mother  would 
come  and  warn  her  that  the  evening  grew  cold,  and 
Serafina  would  turn  from  the  mystery  of  evening 
into  the  house  and  the  candle-light.  This  was  so 
evening  after  evening  all  through  spring  and  sum- 
mer for  two  long  years  of  her  youth.  And  then,  this 
evening,  just  as  the  two  old  neighbours  began  to 
discuss  whether  or  not  the  subjugation  of  the  entire 
world  by  Spain  would  be  for  its  benefit,  just  as  one 
of  the  dogs  in  the  road  was  rising  slowly  to  shake 
itself,  neighbours  and  dogs  all  raised  their  heads  to 
look,  and  there  was  Rodriguez  riding  down  the  street 
and  Morano  coming  behind  him.  When  Serafina 
saw  this  she  brought  her  eyes  back  from  dreams,  for 
she  dreamed  not  so  deeply  but  that  the  cloak  and 
plume  of  Rodriguez  found  some  place  upon  the 
boundaries  of  her  day-dream.  When  she  saw  the 
way  he  sat  his  horse  and  how  he  carried  his  head  she 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  141 

let  her  eyes  flash  for  a  little  moment  along  the  street 
from  her  balcony.  And  if  some  critical  reader  ask 
how  she  did  it  I  answer,  "My  good  sir,  I  can't  tell 
you,  because  I  don't  know,"  or  "My  dear  lady,  what 
a  question  to  ask!"  And  where  she  learned  to  do  it 
I  cannot  think,  but  nothing  was  easier.  And  then 
she  smiled  to  think  that  she  had  done  the  very  thing 
that  her  mother  had  warned  her  there  was  danger 
in  doing. 

"Seralina,"  her  mother  said  in  that  moment  at  the 
large  window,  "the  evening  grows  cold.  It  might 
be  dangerous  to  stay  there  longer."  And  Seralina 
entered  the  house,  as  she  had  done  at  the  coming  of 
dusk  on  many  an  evening. 

Rodriguez  missed  as  much  of  that  flash  of  her 
eyes,  shot  from  below  the  darkness  of  her  hair,  as 
youth  in  its  first  glory  and  freedom  misses.  For 
at  the  point  on  the  road  called  life  at  which  Rodri- 
guez was  then,  one  is  high  on  a  crag  above  the 
promontories  of  watchmen,  lower  only  than  the 
peaks  of  the  prophets,  from  which  to  see  such 
things.  Yet  it  did  not  need  youth  to  notice  Serafina. 
Beggars  had  blessed  her  for  the  poise  of  her  head. 

She  turned  that  head  a  little  as  she  went  between 
the  windows,  till  Rodriguez  gazing  up  to  her  saw 
the  fair  shape  of  her  neck :  and  almost  in  that  mo- 
ment the  last  of  the  daylight  died.  The  windows 
shut;  and  Rodriguez  rode  on  with  Morano  to  find 
the  forge  that  was  kept  by  Fernandez  the  smith. 
And  presently  they  came  to  the  village  forge,  a 
cottage  with  huge,  high  roof  whose  beams  were  safe 


142  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

from  sparks;  and  its  fire  was  glowing  redly  into 
the  moonlight  through  the  wide  door  made  for 
horses,  although  there  seemed  no  work  to  be  done, 
and  a  man  with  a  swart  moustache  was  piling 
more  logs  on.  Over  the  door  was  burned  on  oak 
in  ungainly  great  letters — 

"FERNANDEZ" 

"For  whom  do  you  seek,  senor?"  he  said  to 
Rodriguez,  who  had  halted  before  him  with  his 
horse's  nose  inside  the  doorway  sniffing. 

"I  look,"  he  said,  "for  him  who  is  not  Fernandez." 

"I  am  he,"  said  the  man  by  the  fire. 

Rodriguez  questioned  no  further  but  dismounted, 
and  bade  Morano  lead  the  horses  in.  And  then  he 
saw  in  the  dark  at  the  back  of  the  forge  the  other 
two  horses  that  he  had  seen  in  the  wood.  And  they 
were  shod  as  he  had  never  seen  horses  shod  before. 
For  the  front  pair  of  shoes  were  joined  by  a  chain 
riveted  stoutly  to  each,  and  the  hind  pair  also;  and 
both  horses  were  shod  alike.  The  method  was 
equally  new  to  Morano.  And  now  the  man  with  the 
swart  moustache  picked  up  another  bunch  of  horse- 
shoes hanging  in  pairs  on  chains.  And  Rodriguez 
was  not  far  out  when  he  guessed  that  whenever  la 
Garda  overtook  their  horses  they  would  find  that 
Fernandez  was  far  away  making  holiday,  while  he 
who  shod  them  now  would  be  gone  upon  other  busi- 
ness. And  all  this  work  seemed  to  Rodriguez  not 
to  be  his  affair. 


HOW  HE  SAW  SERAFINA  143 

"Farewell,"  he  said  to  the  smith  that  was  not 
Fernandez;  and  with  a  pat  for  his  horse  he  left  it, 
having  obtained  a  promise  of  oats.  And  so  Rodri- 
guez and  Morano  went  on  foot  again,  Morano  elated 
in  spite  of  fatigue  and  pain,  rejoicing  to  feel  the 
earth  once  more,  flat  under  the  soles  of  his  feet; 
Rodriguez  a  little  humbled. 


THE  SIXTH  CHRONICLE 


145 


THE  SIXTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE   SANG  TO   HIS   MANDOLIN   AND   WHAT  CAME 
OF   HIS   SINGING 

THEY  walked  back  slowly  in  silence  up  the  street 
down  which  they  had  ridden.  Earth  darkened, 
the  moon  grew  brighter :  and  Rodriguez  gazing  at 
the  pale  golden  disk  began  to  wonder  who  dwelt  in 
the  lunar  valleys;  and  what  message,  if  folk  were 
there,  they  had  for  our  peoples;  and  in  what  lan- 
guage such  message  could  ever  be,  and  how  it  could 
fare  across  that  limpid  remoteness  that  wafted  light 
on  to  the  coasts  of  Earth  and  lapped  in  silence  on 
the  lunar  shores.  And  as  he  wondered  he  thought 
of  his  mandolin. 

"Morano,"  he  said,  "buy  bacon." 

Morano's  eyes  brightened :  they  were  forty-five 
miles  from  the  hills  on  which  he  had  last  tasted 
bacon.  He  selected  his  house  with  a  glance,  and 
then  he  was  gone.  And  Rodriguez  reflected  too  late 
that  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  Morano  where  he  should 
find  him,  and  this  with  night  coming  on  in  a  strange 
village.      Scarcely,    Rodriguez    reflected,    he   knew 

147 


148  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

where  he  was  going  himself.  Yet  if  old  tunes  lurk- 
ing in  its  hollows,  echoing  though  imperceptibly 
from  long-faded  evenings,  gave  the  mandolin  any 
knowledge  of  human  affairs  that  other  inanimate 
things  cannot  possess,  the  mandolin  knew. 

Let  us  in  fancy  call  up  the  shade  of  Morano  from 
that  far  generation.  Let  us  ask  him  where 
Rodriguez  is  going.  Those  blue  eyes,  dim  with  the 
distance  over  which  our  fancy  has  called  them,  look 
in  our  eyes  with  wonder. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  says,  "where  Don  Rodriguez 
is  going.    My  master  did  not  tell  me." 

Did  he  notice  nothing  as  they  rode  by  that 
balcony  ? 

"Nothing,"  Morano  answers,  "except  my  master 
riding." 

We  may  let  Morano's  shade  drift  hence  again,  for 
we  shall  discover  nothing :  nor  is  this  an  age  to  which 
to  call  back  spirits. 

Rodriguez  strolled  slowly  on  the  deep  dust  of  that 
street  as  though  wondering  all  the  while  where  he 
should  go;  and  soon  he  and  his  mandolin  were 
below  that  very  balcony  whereon  he  had  seen  the 
white  neck  of  Serafina  gleam  with  the  last  of  the 
daylight.  And  now  the  spells  of  the  moon  charmed 
Earth  with  their  full  power. 

The  balcony  was  empty.  How  should  it  have 
been  otherwise?  And  yet  Rodriguez  grieved.  For 
between  the  vision  that  had  drawn  his  footsteps  and 
that  bare  balcony  below  shuttered  windows  was  the 
difference  between  a  haven,  sought  over  leagues  of 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  149 

sea,  and  sheer,  uncharted  cliff.  It  brought  a  wist- 
fulness  into  the  music  he  played,  and  a  melancholy 
that  was  all  new  to  Rodriguez,  yet  often  and  often 
before  had  that  mandolin  sent  up  through  evening 
against  unheeding  Space  that  cry  that  man  cannot 
utter;  for  the  spirit  of  man  needs  a  mandolin  as  a 
comrade  to  face  the  verdict  of  the  chilly  stars  as  he 
needs  a  bulldog  for  more  mundane  things. 

Soon  out  of  the  depth  of  that  stout  old  mandolin, 
in  which  so  many  human  sorrows  had  spun  tunes  out 
of  themselves,  as  the  spiders  spin  misty  grey  webs, 
till  it  was  all  haunted  with  music,  soon  the  old  cry 
went  up  to  the  stars  again,  a  thread  of  supplication 
spun  of  the  matter  which  else  were  distilled  in  tears, 
beseeching  it  knew  not  what.  And,  but  that  Fate  is 
deaf,  all  that  man  asks  in  music  had  been  granted 
then. 

What  sorrows  had  Rodriguez  known  in  his  life 
that  he  made  so  sad  a  melody  ?  I  know  not.  It  was 
the  mandolin.  When  the  mandolin  was  made  it 
knew  at  once  all  the  sorrows  of  man,  and  all  the  old 
unnamed  longings  that  none  defines.  It  knew  them 
as  the  dog  knows  the  alliance  that  its  forefathers 
made  with  man.  A  mandolin  weeps  the  tears  that 
its  master  cannot  shed,  or  utters  the  prayers  that  arc 
deeper  than  its  master's  lips  can  draw,  as  a  dog  will 
light  for  his  master  with  teeth  that  are  longer  than 
man's.  And  if  the  moonlight  streamed  on  un- 
troubled, and  though  Fate  was  deaf,  yet  beauty  of 
those  fresh  strains  going  starward  from  under  his 
fingers  touched  at  least  the  heart  of  Rodriguez  and 


150  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

gilded  his  dreams  and  gave  to  his  thoughts  a  mourn- 
ful autumnal  glory,  until  he  sang  all  newly  as  he 
never  had  sung  before,  with  limpid  voice  along  the 
edge  of  tears,  a  love-song  old  as  the  woods  of  his 
father's  valleys  at  whose  edge  he  had  heard  it  once 
drift  through  the  evening.  And  as  he  played  and 
sang  with  his  young  soul  in  the  music  he  fancied 
(and  why  not,  if  they  care  aught  for  our  souls  in 
Heaven?)  he  fancied  the  angles  putting  their  hands 
each  one  on  a  star  and  leaning  out  of  Heaven 
through  the  constellations  to  listen. 

"A  vile  song,  seiior,  and  a  vile  tune  with  it,"  said 
a  voice  quite  close. 

However  much  the  words  hurt  his  pride  in  his 
mandolin  Rodriguez  recognised  in  the  voice  the 
hidalgo's  accent  and  knew  that  it  was  an  equal  that 
now  approached  him  in  the  moonlight  round  a 
corner  of  the  house  with  the  balcony;  and  he  knew 
that  the  request  he  courteously  made  would  be  as 
courteously  granted. 

"Seiior,"  he  said,  "I  pray  you  to  permit  me  to 
lean  my  mandolin  against  the  wall  securely  before 
we  speak  of  my  song." 

"Most  surely,  sefior,"  the  stranger  replied,  "for 
there  is  no  fault  with  the  mandolin." 

"Sefior,"  Rodriguez  said,  "I  thank  you  pro- 
foundly." And  he  bowed  to  the  gallant,  whom  he 
now  perceived  to  be  young,  a  youth  tall  and  lithe  like 
himself,  one  whom  we  might  have  chosen  for  these 
chronicles  had  we  not  found  Rodriguez. 

Then  Rodriguez  stepped  back  a  short  way  and 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  151 

placed  his  kerchief  on  the  ground ;  and  upon  this  he 
put  his  mandoHn  and  leaned  it  against  the  wall. 
When  the  mandolin  was  safe  from  dust  or  accident 
he  approached  the  stranger  and  drew  his  sword. 

"Senor,"  he  said,  "we  will  now  discuss  music." 

"Right  gladly,  seiior,"  said  the  young  man,  who 
now  drew  his  sword  also.  There  were  no  clouds ;  the 
moon  was  full ;  the  evening  promised  well. 

Scarcely  had  the  flash  of  thin  rapiers  crossing  each 
other  by  moonlight  begun  to  gleam  in  the  street  when 
Morano  appeared  beside  them  and  stood  there  watch- 
ing. He  had  bought  his  bacon  and  gone  straight 
to  the  house  with  the  balcony.  For  though  he  knew 
no  Latin  he  had  not  missed  the  silent  greeting  that 
had  welcomed  his  master  to  that  village,  or  failed  to 
interpret  the  gist  of  the  words  that  Rodriguez'  dumb 
glance  would  have  said.  He  stood  there  watching 
while  each  combatant  stood  his  ground. 

And  Rodriguez  remembered  all  those  passes  and 
feints  that  he  had  had  from  his  father,  and  which 
Sevastiani,  a  master  of  arms  in  Madrid,  had  taught 
in  his  father's  youth :  and  some  were  famous  and 
some  were  little  known.  And  all  these  passes,  as 
he  tried  them  one  by  one,  his  unknown  antagonist 
parried.  And  for  a  moment  Rodriguez  feared  that 
Morano  would  see  those  passes  in  which  he  trusted 
foiled  by  that  unknown  sword,  and  then  he  reflected 
that  Morano  knew  nothing  of  the  craft  of  the  rapier, 
and  with  more  content  at  that  thought  he  parried 
thrusts  that  were  strange  to  him.  But  something 
told  Morano  that   in   this   fight   the   stranger  was 


152  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

master  and  that  along  that  pale-blue,  moonlit,  un- 
known sword  lurked  a  sure  death  for  Rodriguez. 
He  moved  from  his  place  of  vantage  and  was  soon 
lost  in  large  shadows;  while  the  rapiers  played  and 
blade  rippled  on  blade  with  a  sound  as  though 
Death  were  gently  sharpening  his  scythe  in  the 
dark.  And  now  Rodriguez  was  giving  ground, 
now  his  antagonist  pressed  him;  thrusts  that  he 
believed  invincible  had  failed;  now  he  parried 
wearily  and  had  at  once  to  parry  again ;  the  unknown 
pressed  on,  was  upon  him,  was  scattering  his 
weakening  parries;  drew  back  his  rapier  for  a 
deadlier  pass,  learned  in  a  secret  school,  in  a  hut  on 
mountains  he  knew,  and  practised  surely ;  and  fell  in 
a  heap  upon  Rodriguez'  feet,  struck  full  on  the  back 
of  the  head  by  Morano's  frying-pan. 

"Most  vile  knave,"  shouted  Rodriguez  as  he  saw 
Morano  before  him  with  his  frying-pan  in  his  hand, 
and  with  something  of  the  stupid  expression  that  you 
see  on  the  face  of  a  dog  that  has  done  some  foolish 
thing  which  it  thinks  will  delight  its  master. 

"Master!    I  am  your  servant,"  said  Morano. 

"Vile,  miserable  knave,"  replied  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  Morano  said  plaintively,  "shall  I  see 
to  your  comforts,  your  food,  and  not  to  your  life?" 

"Silence,"  thundered  Rodriguez  as  he  stooped 
anxiously  to  his  antagonist,  who  was  not  unconscious 
but  only  very  giddy  and  who  now  rose  to  his  feet 
with  the  help  of  Rodriguez. 

"Alas,  senor,"  said  Rodriguez,  "the  foul  knave  is 
my  servant.    He  shall  be  flogged.    He  shall  be  flayed. 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  153 

His  vile  flesh  shall  be  cut  off  him.  Does  the  hurt 
pain  you,  seiior?  Sit  and  rest  while  I  beat  the  knave, 
and  then  we  will  continue  our  meeting." 

And  he  ran  to  his  kerchief  on  which  rested  his 
mandolin  and  laid  it  upon  the  dust  for  the  stranger. 
"No,  no,"  said  he.     "My  head  clears  again.     It 
is  nothing." 

"But  rest,  sefior,  rest,"  said  Rodriguez.  "It  is 
always  well  to  rest  before  an  encounter.  Rest  while 
I  punish  the  knave." 

And  he  led  him  to  where  the  kerchief  lay  on  the 
ground.  "Let  me  see  the  hurt,  sefior,"  he  continued. 
And  the  stranger  removed  his  plumed  hat  as  Rodri- 
guez compelled  him  to  sit  down.  He  straightened 
out  the  hat  as  he  sat,  and  the  hurt  was  shown  to  be 
of  no  great  consequence. 

"The  blessed  Saints  be  praised,"  Rodriguez  said. 
"It  need  not  stop  our  encounter.  But  rest  awhile, 
sefior." 

"Indeed,  it  is  nothing,"  he  answered. 
"But    the    indignity    is    immeasurable,"    sighed 
Rodriguez.     "Would  you  care,  sefior,  when  you  are 
well  rested  to  give  the  chastisement  yourself?" 

"As  far  as  that  goes,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  can 
chastise  him  now." 

"If  you  are  fully  recovered,  senor,"  Rodriguez 
said,  "my  own  sword  is  at  your  disposal  to  beat  him 
sore  with  the  flat  of  it,  or  how  you  will.  Thus  no 
dishonour  shall  touch  your  sword  from  the  skin  of 
so  vile  a  knave." 

The  stranger  smiled  :  the  idea  appealed  to  him. 


154  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"You  make  a  noble  amend,  sefior,"  he  said  as  he 
bowed  over  Rodriguez'  proffered  sword. 

Morano  had  not  moved  far,  but  stood  near,  won- 
dering. "What  should  a  servant  do  if  not  work  for 
his  master?"  he  wondered.  And  how  work  for 
him  when  dead?  And  dead,  as  it  seemed  to  Morano, 
through  his  own  fault  if  he  allowed  any  man  to 
kill  him  when  he  perceived  him  about  to  do  so.  He 
stood  there  puzzled.  And  suddenly  he  saw  the 
stranger  coming  angrily  towards  him  in  the  clear 
moonlight  with  a  sword.     Morano  was  frightened. 

As  the  hidalgo  came  up  to  him  he  stretched  out 
his  left  hand  to  seize  Morano  by  the  shoulder.  Up 
went  the  frying-pan,  the  stranger  parried,  but 
against  a  stroke  that  no  school  taught  or  knew,  and 
for  the  second  time  he  went  down  in  the  dust  with 
a  reeling  head.  Rodriguez  turned  toward  Morano 
and  said  to  him  .  .  .  No,  realism  is  all  very  well, 
and  I  know  that  my  duty  as  author  is  to  tell  all  that 
happened,  and  I  could  win  mighty  praise  as  a  bold, 
unconventional  writer ;  at  the  same  time,  some  young 
lady  will  be  reading  all  this  next  year  in  some  far 
country,  or  in  twenty  years  in  England,  and  I  would 
sooner  she  should  not  read  what  Rodriguez  said. 
I  do  not,  I  trust,  disappoint  her.  But  the  gist  of  it 
was  that  he  should  leave  that  place  now  and  depart 
from  his  service  for  ever.  And  hearing  those  words 
Morano  turned  mournfully  away  and  was  at  once 
lost  in  the  darkness.  While  Rodriguez  ran  once 
more  to  help  his  fallen  antagonist.  "Seiior,  sefior," 
he  said  with  an  emotion  that  some  wearing  centuries 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  155 

and  a  cold  climate  have  taught  us  not  to  show,  and 
beyond  those  words  he  could  find  no  more  to  say. 

■'Giddy,  only  giddy,"  said  the  stranger. 

A  tear  fell  on  his  forehead  as  Rodriguez  helped 
him  to  his  feet. 

"Senor,"  Rodriguez  said  fervently,  "we  v/ill  finish 
our  encounter  come  what  may.  The  knave  is  gone 
and  .  .  ." 

"But  I  am  somewhat  giddy,"  said  the  other. 

"I  will  take  off  one  of  my  shoes,"  said  Rodriguez, 
"leaving  the  other  on.  It  will  equalise  our  unsteadi- 
ness, and  you  shall  not  be  disappointed  in  our 
encounter.    Come,"  he  added  kindly. 

"I  cannot  see  so  clearly  as  before,"  the  young 
hidalgo  murmured. 

"I  will  bandage  my  right  eye  also,"  said  Rodriguez, 
"and  if  this  cannot  equalise  it  .  .  ." 

"It  is  a  most  fair  offer,"  said  the  young  man. 

"I  could  not  bear  that  you  should  be  disappointed 
of  your  encounter,"  Rodriguez  said,  "by  this  spirit 
of  Hell  that  has  got  itself  clothed  in  fat  and  dares  to 
usurp  the  dignity  of  man." 

"It  is  a  right  fair  offer,"  the  young  man  said 
again. 

"Rest  yourself,  senor,"  said  Rodriguez,  "while  I 
take  off  my  shoe,"  and  he  indicated  his  kerchief 
which  was  still  on  the  ground. 

The  stranger  sat  down  a  little  wearily,  and  Rodri- 
guez sitting  upon  the  dust  took  off  his  left  shoe. 
And  now  he  began  to  think  a  little  wistfully  of  the 
face  that  had  shone  from  that  balcony,  where  all  was 


156  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

dark  now  in  black  shadow  unlit  by  the  moon.  The 
emptiness  of  the  balcony  and  its  darkness  oppressed 
him;  for  he  could  scarcely  hope  to  survive  an 
encounter  with  that  swordsman,  whose  skill  he  now 
recognised  as  being  of  a  different  class  from  his 
own,  a  class  of  which  he  knew  nothing.  All  his 
own  feints  and  passes  were  known,  while  those  of 
his  antagonist  had  been  strange  and  new,  and  he 
might  well  have  even  others.  The  stranger's  giddi- 
ness did  not  alter  the  situation,  for  Rodriguez  knew 
that  his  handicap  was  fair  and  even  generous.  He 
believed  he  was  near  his  grave,  and  could  see  no 
spark  of  light  to  banish  that  dark  belief;  yet  more 
chances  than  we  can  see  often  guard  us  on  such 
occasions.  The  absence  of  Serafina  saddened  him 
like  a  sorrowful  sunset. 

Rodriguez  rose  and  limped  with  his  one  shoe  off  to 
the  stranger,  who  was  sitting  upon  his  kerchief. 

"I  will  bandage  my  right  eye  now,  senor,"  he  said. 

The  young  man  rose  and  shook  the  dust  from  the 
kerchief  and  gave  it  to  Rodriguez  with  a  renewed 
expression  of  his  gratitude  at  the  fairness  of  the 
strange  handicap.  When  Rodriguez  had  bandaged 
his  eye  the  stranger  returned  his  sword  to  him, 
which  he  had  held  in  his  hand  since  his  effort  to 
beat  Morano,  and  drawing  his  own  stepped  back 
a  few  paces  from  him.  Rodriguez  took  one  hopeless 
look  at  the  balcony,  saw  it  as  empty  and  as  black  as 
ever,  then  he  faced  his  antagonist,  waiting. 

"Bandage  one  eye,  indeed !"  muttered  Morano  as 
he  stepped  up  behind  the  stranger  and  knocked  him 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  157 

down  for  the  third  time  with  a  blow  over  the  head 
from  his  frying-pan. 

The  young  hidalgo  dropped  silently. 

Rodriguez  uttered  one  scream  of  anger  and  rushed 
at  Morano  with  his  sword.  Morano  had  already 
started  to  run;  and,  knowing  well  that  he  was  run- 
ning for  his  life,  he  kept  for  awhile  the  start  that  he 
had  of  the  rapier.  Rodriguez  knew  that  no  plump 
man  of  over  forty  could  last  against  his  lithe  speed 
long.  He  saw  Morano  clearly  before  him,  then  lost 
sight  of  him  for  a  moment  and  ran  confidently  on 
pursuing.  He  ran  on  and  on.  And  at  last  he 
recognised  that  Morano  had  slipped  into  the  dark- 
ness, which  lies  always  so  near  to  the  moonlight, 
and  was  not  in  front  of  him  at  all.  So  he  returned 
to  his  fallen  antagonist  and  found  him  breathing 
heavily  where  he  fell,  scarcely  conscious.  The  third 
stroke  of  the  frying-pan  had  done  its  work  surely. 
Rodriguez'  fury  died  down,  only  because  it  is 
difficult  to  feel  two  emotions  at  once :  it  died  down 
as  pity  took  its  place,  though  every  now  and  then  it 
would  suddenly  flare  and  fall  again.  He  returned 
his  sword  and  lifted  the  young  hidalgo  and  carried 
him  to  the  door  of  the  house  under  which  they  had 
fought. 

With  one  fist  he  beat  on  the  door  without  putting 
the  hurt  man  down,  and  continued  to  hit  it  until 
steps  v/ere  heard,  and  bolts  began  to  grumble,  as 
though  disturl:)ed  too  early  from  their  rusty  sleep  in 
stone  sockets. 

The   door   of   the   house    with    the    balcony   was 


158  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

opened  by  a  servant  who,  when  he  saw  who  it  was 
that  Rodriguez  carried,  fled  into  the  house  in  alarm, 
as  one  who  runs  with  bad  news.  He  carried  one 
candle  and,  when  he  had  disappeared  with  the  steam- 
ing flame,  Rodriguez  found  himself  in  a  long  hall  lit 
by  the  moonlight  only,  which  was  looking  in  through 
the  small  contorted  panes  of  the  upper  part  of  a  high 
window.  Alone  with  echoes  and  shadows  Rodriguez 
carried  the  hurt  man  through  the  hall,  who  was  mut- 
tering now  as  he  came  back  to  consciousness.  And, 
as  he  went,  there  came  to  Rodriguez  thoughts  be- 
tween wonder  and  hope,  for  he  had  had  no  thought 
at  all  when  he  beat  on  the  door  except  to  get  shelter 
and  help  for  the  hurt  man.  At  the  end  of  the  hall 
they  came  to  an  open  door  that  led  into  a  chamber 
partly  shining  with  moonlight. 

"In  there,"  said  the  man  that  he  carried. 

Rodriguez  carried  him  in  and  laid  him  on  a  long 
couch  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Large  pictures  of 
men  in  the  blackness,  out  of  the  moon's  rays, 
frowned  at  Rodriguez  mysteriously.  He  could  not 
see  their  faces  in  the  darkness,  but  he  somehow  knew 
they  frowned.  Two  portraits  that  were  clear  in  the 
moonlight  eyed  him  with  absolute  apathy.  So  cold  a 
welcome  from  that  house's  past  generations  boded 
no  good  to  him  from  those  that  dwelt  there  to-day. 
Rodriguez  knew  that  in  carrying  the  hurt  man  there 
he  helped  at  a  Christian  deed ;  and  yet  there  was  no 
putting  the  merits  of  the  case  against  the  omens  that 
crowded  the  chamber,  lurking  along  the  edge  of 
moonlight  and  darkness,  disappearing  and  reappear- 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  159 

ing  till  the  gloom  was  heavy  with  portent.  The 
omens  knew.  In  a  weak  voice  and  few  words  the 
hurt  man  thanked  him,  but  the  apathetic  faces 
seemed  to  say  What  of  that?  And  the  frowning 
faces  that  he  could  not  see  still  filled  the  darkness 
with  anger. 

And  then  from  the  end  of  the  chamber,  dressed  in 
white,  and  all  shining  with  moonlight,  came  Serafina. 

Rodriguez  in  awed  silence  watched  her  come.  He 
saw  her  pass  through  the  moonlight  and  grow  dim- 
mer, and  glide  to  the  moonlight  again  that  streamed 
through  another  window.  A  great  dim  golden  circle 
appeared  at  the  far  end  of  the  chamber  whence  she 
had  come,  as  the  servant  returned  with  his  candle 
and  held  it  high  to  give  light  for  Doiia  Serafina. 
But  that  one  flame  seemed  to  make  the  darkness 
only  blacker ;  and  for  any  cheerfulness  it  brought  to 
the  gloom  it  had  better  never  have  challenged  those 
masses  of  darkness  at  all  in  that  high  chamber 
among  the  brooding  portraits  it  seemed  trivial, 
ephemeral,  modem,  ill  able  to  cope  with  the  power  of 
ancient  things,  dead  days  and  forgotten  voices,  which 
make  their  home  in  the  darkness  because  the  days 
that  have  usurped  them  have  stolen  the  light  of  the 
sun. 

And  there  the  man  stood  holding  his  candle  high, 
and  the  rays  of  the  moon  became  more  magical  still 
beside  that  little  mundane,  flickering  thing.  And 
Serafina  was  moving  through  the  moonlight  as 
though  its  rays  were  her  sisters,  which  she  met 
noiselessly   and   brightly   upon   some   island,   as   it 


i6o  BON  RODRIGUEZ 

seemed  to  Rodriguez,  beyond  the  costs  of  Elarth,  so 
quietly  and  so  brightly  did  her  slender  figure  move 
and  so  aloof  from  him  appeared  her  eyes.  And 
there  came  on  Rodriguez  that  feeling  that  some 
deride  and  that  others  explain  away,  the  feeling  of 
which  romance  is  mainly  made  and  which  is  the  aim 
and  goal  of  all  the  earth.  And  his  love  for  Serafina 
seemed  to  him  not  only  to  be  an  event  in  his  life 
but  to  have  some  part  in  veiled  and  shadowy  des- 
tinies and  to  have  the  blessing  of  most  distant  days : 
grey  beards  seemed  to  look  out  of  graves  in  for- 
gotten places  to  wag  approval :  hands  seemed  to 
beckon  to  him  out  of  far-future  times,  where  faces 
were  smiling  quietly :  and,  dreaming  on  further  still, 
this  vast  approval  that  gave  benediction  to  his  heart's 
youthful  fancy  seemed  to  widen  and  widen  like 
the  gold  of  a  summer's  evening  or,  the  humming 
of  bees  in  summer  in  endless  rows  of  limes,  until 
it  became  a  part  of  the  story  of  man.  Spring  days 
of  his  earliest  memory  seemed  to  have  their  part  in 
it,  as  well  as  wonderful  evenings  of  days  that  were 
yet  to  be,  till  his  love  for  Serafina  was  one  with  the 
fate  of  earth;  and,  wandering  far  on  their  courses, 
he  knew  that  the  stars  blessed  it.  But  Serafina 
went  up  to  the  man  on  the  couch  with  no  look  for 
Rodriguez. 

With  no  look  for  Rodriguez  she  bent  over  the 
stricken  hidalgo.  He  raised  himself  a  little  on  one 
elbow.    "It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  "Serafina." 

Still  she  bent  over  him.  He  laid  his  head  down 
again,  but  now  with  open  and  undimmed  eyes.    She 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  i6i 

put  her  hand  to  his  forehead,  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice 
to  him;  she  lavished  upon  him  sympathy  for  which 
Rodriguez  would  have  offered  his  head  to  swords; 
and  all,  thought  Rodriguez  for  three  blows  from  a 
knave's  frying-pan :  and  his  anger  against  Morano 
flared  up  again  fiercely.  Then  there  came  another 
thought  to  him  out  of  the  shadows,  where  Serafina 
was  standing  all  white,  a  figure  of  solace.  Who  was 
this  man  who  so  mysteriously  blended  with  the  other 
unknown  things  that  haunted  the  gloom  of  that 
chamber  ?  Why  had  he  fought  him  at  night  ?  What 
was  he  to  Serafina?  Thoughts  crowded  up  to  him 
from  the  interior  of  the  darkness,  sombre  and  fore- 
boding as  the  shadows  that  nursed  them.  He  stood 
there  never  daring  to  speak  to  Serafina ;  looking  for 
permission  to  speak,  such  as  a  glance  might  give. 
And  no  glance  came. 

And  now,  as  though  soothed  by  her  beauty,  the 
hurt  man  closed  his  eyes.  Serafina  stood  beside  him 
anxious  and  silent,  gleaming  in  that  dim  place.  The 
servant  at  the  far  end  of  the  chamber  still  held  his 
one  candle  high,  as  though  some  light  of  earth  were 
needed  against  the  fantastic  moon,  which  if  unop- 
posed would  give  everything  over  to  magic.  Rodri- 
guez stood  there,  scarcely  breathing.  All  was  silent. 
And  then  through  the  door  by  which  Serafina  had 
come,  past  that  lonely,  golden,  moon-defying  candle, 
all  down  the  long  room  across  moonlight  and  black- 
ness, came  the  lady  of  the  house,  Serafina's  mother. 
She  came,  as  Serafina  came,  straight  toward  the  man 
on  the  couch,  giving  no  look  to  Rodriguez,  walking 


i62  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

something  as  Serafina  walked,  with  the  same  poise, 
the  same  dignity,  though  the  years  had  carried  away 
from  her  the  grace  Serafina  had :  so  that,  though 
you  saw  that  they  were  mother  and  daughter,  the 
elder  lady  called  to  mind  the  lovely  things  of  earth, 
large  gardens  at  evening,  statues  dim  in  the  dusk, 
summer  and  whatsoever  binds  us  to  earthly  things ; 
but  Serafina  turned  Rodriguez'  thoughts  to  the  twi- 
light in  which  he  first  saw  her,  and  he  pictured  her 
native  place  as  far  from  here,  in  mellow  fields  near 
the  moon,  wherein  she  had  walked  on  twilight  out- 
lasting any  we  know,  with  all  delicate  things  of  our 
fancy,  too  fair  for  the  rugged  earth. 

As  the  lady  approached  the  couch  upon  which  the 
young  man  was  lying,  and  still  no  look  was  turned 
towards  Rodriguez,  his  young  dreams  fled  as  butter- 
flies sailing  high  in  the  heat  of  June  that  are  suddenly 
plunged  in  night  by  a  total  eclipse  of  the  sun.  He 
had  never  spoken  to  Serafina,  or  seen  before  her 
mother,  and  they  did  not  know  his  name;  he  knew 
that  he,  Rodriguez,  had  no  claim  to  a  welcome.  But 
his  dreams  had  flocked  so  much  about  Serafina's 
face,  basking  so  much  in  her  beauty,  that  they  now 
fell  back  dying;  and  when  a  man's  dreams  die  what 
remains,  if  he  lingers  awhile  behind  them? 

Rodriguez  suddenly  felt  that  his  left  shoe  was  off 
and  his  right  eye  still  bandaged,  things  that  he  had 
not  noticed  while  his  only  thought  was  for  the  man 
he  carried  to  shelter,  but  torturing  his  consciousness 
now  that  he  thought  of  himself.  He  opened  his  lips  to 
explain ;  but  before  words  came  to  him,  looking  at  the 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  163 

face  of  Serafina's  mother,  standing  now  by  the  couch, 
he  felt  that,  not  knowing  how,  he  had  somehow 
wronged  the  Penates  of  this  house,  or  whatever  was 
hid  in  the  dimness  of  that  long  chamber,  by  carrying 
in  this  young  man  there  to  rest  from  his  hurt. 

Rodriguez'  depression  arose  from  these  causes, 
but  having  arisen,  it  grew  of  its  own  might :  he  had 
had  nothing  to  eat  since  morning,  and  in  the  favour- 
ing atmosphere  of  hunger  his  depression  grew  gi- 
gantic. He  opened  his  lips  once  more  to  say  fare- 
well, was  oppressed  by  all  manner  of  thoughts  that 
held  him  dumb,  and  turned  away  in  silence  and  left 
the  house.  Outside  he  recovered  his  mandolin  and 
his  shoe.  He  was  tired  with  the  weariness  of  de- 
feated dreams  that  slept  in  his  spirit  exhausted, 
rather  than  with  any  fatigue  his  young  muscles  had 
from  the  journey.  He  needed  sleep;  he  looked  at 
the  shuttered  houses;  then  at  the  soft  dust  of  the 
road  in  which  dogs  lay  during  the  daylight.  But  the 
dust  was  near  to  his  mood,  so  he  lay  down  where 
he  had  fought  the  unknown  hidalgo.  A  light  wind 
wandered  the  street  like  a  visitor  come  to  the  village 
out  of  a  friendly  valley,  but  Rodriguez'  four  days 
on  the  roads  had  made  him  familiar  with  all  wander- 
ing things,  and  the  breeze  on  his  forehead  troubled 
him  not  at  all :  before  it  had  wearied  of  wandering 
in  the  night  Rodriguez  had  fallen  asleep.  Just  by 
the  edge  of  sleep,  upon  which  side  he  knew  not,  he 
heard  the  window  of  the  balcony  creak,  and  looked 
up  wide  awake  all  in  a  moment.  But  nothing  stirred 
in  the  darkness  of  the  balcony  and  the  window  was 


i64  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

fast  shut.  So  whatever  sound  came  from  the  win- 
dow came  not  from  its  opening  but  shutting :  for  a 
while  he  wondered;  and  then  his  tired  thoughts 
rested,  and  that  was  sleep. 

A  light  rain  woke  Rodriguez,  drizzling  upon  his 
face;  the  first  light  rain  that  had  fallen  in  a  roman- 
tic tale.  Storms  there  had  been,  lashing  oaks  to 
terrific  shapes  seen  at  night  by  flashes  of  lightning, 
through  which  villains  rode  abroad  or  heroes  sought 
shelter  at  midnight ;  hurricanes  there  had  been,  flap- 
ping huge  cloaks,  fierce  hail  and  copious  snow;  but 
until  now  no  drizzle.  It  was  morning;  dawn  was 
old;  and  pale  and  grey  and  unhappy. 

The  balcony  above  him,  still  empty,  scarcely  even 
held  romance  now.  Rain  dripped  from  it  sadly.  Its 
cheerless  bareness  seemed  worse  than  the  most  sinis- 
ter shadows  of  night. 

And  then  Rodriguez  saw  a  rose  lying  on  the 
ground  beside  him.  And  for  all  the  dreams,  fancies, 
and  hopes  that  leaped  up  in  Rodriguez'  mind,  rising 
and  falling  and  fading,  one  thing  alone  he  knew  and 
all  the  rest  was  mystery :  the  rose  had  lain  there  be- 
fore the  rain  had  fallen.  Beneath  the  rose  was  white 
dust,  while  all  around  it  the  dust  was  turning  grey 
with  rain. 

Rodriguez  tried  to  guess  how  long  the  rain  had 
fallen.  The  rose  may  have  lain  beside  him  all  night 
long.  But  the  shadows  of  mystery  receded  no  far- 
ther than  this  one  fact  that  the  rose  was  there  before 
the  rain  began.  No  sign  of  any  kind  came  from  the 
house. 


HOW  HE  SANG  TO  HIS  MANDOLIN  165 

Rodriguez  put  the  rose  safe  under  his  coat, 
wrapped  in  the  kerchief  that  had  guarded  the  mando- 
lin, to  carry  it  far  from  LowHght,  through  places 
familiar  with  roses  and  places  strange  to  them ;  but  it 
remained  for  him  a  thing  of  mystery  until  a  day  far 
from  then. 

Sadly  he  left  the  house  in  the  sad  rain,  marching 
away  alone  to  look  for  his  wars. 


THE   SEVENTH    CHRONICLE 


167 


THE  SEVENTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW   HE   CAME   TO    SHADOW   VALLEY 

RODRIGUEZ  still  believed  it  to  be  the  duty  of 
any  Christian  man  to  kill  Morano.  Yet,  more 
than  comfort,  more  than  dryness,  he  missed 
Morano's  cheerful  chatter,  and  his  philosophy  into 
which  all  occasions  so  easily  slipped.  Upon  his  first 
day's  journey  all  was  new;  the  very  anemones  kept 
him  company;  but  now  he  made  the  discovery  that 
lonely  roads  are  long. 

When  he  had  suggested  food  or  rest  Morano  had 
fallen  in  with  his  wishes;  when  he  had  suggested 
winning  a  castle  in  vague  wars  Morano  had  agreed 
with  him.  Now  he  had  dismissed  Morano  and  had 
driven  him  away  at  the  rapier's  point.  There  was 
no  one  now  either  to  cook  his  food  or  to  believe  in 
the  schemes  his  ambition  made.  There  was  no  one 
now  to  speak  of  the  wars  as  the  natural  end  of  the 
journey.  Alone  in  the  rain  the  wars  seemed  far 
away  and  castles  hard  to  come  by.  The  unromantic 
rain  in  which  no  dreams  thrive  fell  on  and  on. 

The  village  of  Lowlight  was  some  way  behind 
him,  as  he  went  with  mournful  thoughts  through  the 

169 


I70  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

drizzling  rain,  when  he  caught  the  smell  of  bacon. 
He  looked  for  a  house  but  the  plain  was  bare  except 
for  small  bushes.  He  looked  up  wind,  which  was 
blowing  from  the  west,  whence  came  the  unmistak- 
able smell  of  bacon :  and  there  was  a  small  fire 
smoking  greyly  against  a  bush;  and  the  fat  figure 
crouching  beside  it,  although  the  face  was  everted, 
was  clearly  none  but  Morano.  And  when  Rodriguez 
saw  that  he  was  tenderly  holding  the  infamous  fry- 
ing-pan, the  very  weapon  that  had  done  the  accursed 
deed,  then  he  almost  felt  righteous  anger;  but  that 
frying-pan  held  other  memories  too,  and  Rodriguez 
felt  less  fury  than  what  he  thought  he  felt.  As  for 
killing  Morano,  Rodriguez  believed,  or  thought  he 
believed,  that  he  was  too  far  from  the  road  for  it 
to  be  possible  to  overtake  him  to  mete  out  his  just 
punishment.  As  for  the  bacon,  Rodriguez  scorned 
it  and  marched  on  down  the  road.  Now  one  side 
of  the  frying-pan  was  very  hot,  for  it  was  tilted  a 
little  and  the  lard  had  run  sideways.  By  tilting  it 
back  again  slowly  Morano  could  make  the  fat  run 
back  bit  by  bit  over  the  heated  metal,  and  whenever 
it  did  so  it  sizzled.  He  now  picked  up  the  frying- 
pan  and  one  log  that  was  burning  well  and  walked 
parallel  with  Rodriguez.  He  was  up-wind  of  him, 
and  whenever  the  bacon-fat  sizzled  Rodriguez 
caught  the  smell  of  it.  A  small  matter  to  inspire 
thoughts ;  but  Rodriguez  had  eaten  nothing  since  the 
morning  before,  and  ideas  surged  through  his  head ; 
and  though  they  began  with  moral  indignation  they 
adapted  themselves  more  and  more  to  hunger,  until 


SHADOW  VALLEY  171 

there  came  the  idea  that  since  his  money  had  bought 
the  bacon  the  food  was  rightfully  his,  and  he  had 
every  right  to  eat  it  wherever  he  found  it.  So  much 
can  slaves  sometimes  control  the  master,  and  the 
body  rule  the  brain. 

So  Rodriguez  suddenly  turned  and  strode  up  to 
Morano.    "My  bacon,"  he  said. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  for  it  was  beginning  to 
cool,  "let  me  make  another  small  fire." 

"Knave,  call  me  not  master,"  said  Rodriguez. 

Morano,  who  knew  when  speech  was  good,  was 
silent  now,  and  blew  on  the  smouldering  end  of  the 
log  he  carried  and  gathered  a  handful  of  twigs  and 
shook  the  rain  off  them;  and  soon  had  a  small  fire 
again,  warming  the  bacon.  He  had  nothing  to  say 
which  bacon  could  not  say  better.  And  when  Rodri- 
guez had  finished  up  the  bacon  he  carefully  recon- 
sidered the  case  of  Morano,  and  there  were  points 
in  it  which  he  had  not  thought  of  before.  He  re- 
flected that  for  the  execution  of  knaves  a  suitable 
person  was  provided.  He  should  perhaps  give 
Morano  up  to  la  Garda.  His  next  thought  was 
where  to  find  la  Garda.  And  easily  enough  another 
thought  followed  that  one,  which  was  that  although 
on  foot  and  still  some  way  behind  four  of  la  Garda 
were  trying  to  find  him.  Rodriguez'  mind,  which 
was  looking  at  life  from  the  point  of  view  of  a 
judge,  changed  somewhat  at  this  thought.  He  re- 
flected next  that,  for  the  prevention  of  crime,  to 
make  Morano  see  the  true  nature  of  his  enormity  so 
that  he  should  never  commit  it  again  might  after  all 


172  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

be  as  good  as  killing  him.  So  what  we  call  his  bet- 
ter nature,  his  calmer  judgment,  decided  him  now  to 
talk  to  Morano  and  not  to  kill  him:  but  Morano, 
looking  back  upon  this  merciful  change,  always  at- 
tributed it  to  fried  bacon. 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez'  better  nature,  "to 
offend  the  laws  of  Chivalry  is  to  have  against  you  the 
swords  of  all  true  men." 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "that  were  dreadful 
odds." 

"And  rightly,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "I  will  keep  those  laws 
henceforth.  I  may  cook  bacon  for  you  when  you 
are  hungry,  I  may  brush  the  dust  from  your  cloak, 
I  may  see  to  your  comforts.  This  Chivalry  forbids 
none  of  that.  But  when  I  see  anyone  trying  to  kill 
you,  master;  why,  kill  you  he  must,  and  welcome." 

"Not  always,"  said  Rodriguez  somewhat  curtly, 
for  it  struck  him  that  Morano  spoke  somehow  too 
lightly  of  sacred  things. 

"Not  always?"  asked  Morano. 

"No,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,  I  implore  you  tell  me,"  said  Morano, 
"when  they  may  kill  you  and  when  they  may  not,  so 
that  I  may  never  oflfend  again." 

Rodriguez  cast  a  swift  glance  at  him  but  found 
his  face  so  full  of  puzzled  anxiety  that  he  conde- 
scended to  do  what  Morano  had  asked,  and  began  to 
explain  to  him  the  rudiments  of  the  laws  of  Chivalry. 

"In  the  wars,"  he  said,  "you  may  defend  me  who- 
ever assails  me,  or  if  robbers  or  any  common  persons 


SHADOW  VALLEY  173 

attack  me,  but  if  I  arrange  a  meeting  with  a  gentle- 
man, and  any  knave  basely  interferes,  then  is  he 
damned  hereafter  as  well  as  accursed  now ;  for,  the 
laws  of  Chivalry  being  founded  on  true  religion, 
the  penalty  for  their  breach  is  by  no  means  confined 
to  this  world." 

"Master,"  replied  Morano  thoughtfully,  "if  I  be 
not  damned  already  I  will  avoid  those  fires  of  Hell; 
and  none  shall  kill  you  that  you  have  not  chosen  to 
kill  you,  and  those  that  you  choose  shall  kill  you 
whenever  you  have  a  mind." 

Rodriguez  opened  his  lips  to  correct  Morano  but 
reflected  that,  though  in  his  crude  and  base-born 
way,  he  had  correctly  interpreted  the  law  so  far  as 
his  mind  was  able. 

So  he  briefly  said  "Yes,"  and  rose  and  returned 
to  the  road,  giving  Morano  no  order  to  follow  him ; 
and  this  was  the  last  concession  he  made  to  the  needs 
of  Chivalry  on  account  of  the  sin  of  Morano. 
Morano  gathered  up  the  frying-pan  and  followed 
Rodriguez,  and  when  they  came  to  the  road  he 
walked  behind  him  in  silence. 

For  three  or  four  miles  they  walked  thus,  Morano 
knowing  that  he  followed  on  sufferance  and  calling 
no  attention  to  himself  with  his  garrulous  tongue. 
But  at  the  end  of  an  hour  the  rain  lifted;  and  with 
the  coming  out  of  the  sun  Morano  talked  again. 

"Master,"  he  said,  "the  next  man  that  you  choose 
to  kill  you,  let  him  be  one  too  base-born  to  know  the 
tricks  of  the  rapier,  too  ignorant  to  do  aught  but 
wish  you  well,  some  poor  fat  fool  over  forty  who 


174  DON  RODRIGUEZ 


shall  be  too  heavy  to  elude  your  rapier's  point  and 
too  elderly  for  it  to  matter  when  you  kill  him  at  your 
Chivalry,  the  best  of  life  being  gone  already  at  forty- 
five." 

"There  is  timber  here,"  said  Rodriguez.  "We 
M^ill  have  some  more  bacon  while  you  dry  my  cloak 
over  a  fire." 

Thus  he  acknowledged  Morano  again  for  his 
servant  but  never  acknowledged  that  in  Morano's 
words  he  had  understood  any  poor  sketch  of 
Morano's  self,  or  that  the  words  went  to  his  heart. 

"Timber,  Master?"  said  Morano,  though  it  did 
not  need  Rodriguez  to  point  out  the  great  oaks 
that  now  began  to  stand  beside  their  journey,  but 
he  saw  that  the  other  matter  was  well  and  thus  he 
left  well  alone. 

Rodriguez  waved  an  arm  towards  the  great  trees. 
"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Morano,  and  began  to  polish 
up  the  frying-pan  as  he  walked. 

"Rodriguez,  who  missed  little,  caught  a  glimpse  of 
tears  in  Morano's  eyes,  for  all  that  his  head  was 
turned  downward  over  the  frying-pan;  yet  he  said 
nothing,  for  he  knew  that  forgiveness  was  all  that 
Morano  needed,  and  that  he  had  now  given  him :  and 
it  was  much  to  give,  reflected  Rodriguez,  for  so  great 
a  crime,  and  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind. 

And  now  their  road  dipped  downhill,  and  they 
passed  a  huge  oak  and  then  another.  More  and 
more  often  now  they  met  these  solitary  giants,  till 
their  view  began  to  be  obscured  by  them.  The  road 
dwindled  till  it  was  no  better  than  a  track,  the  earth 


SHADOW  VALLEY  175 

beside  it  was  wild  and  rocky;  Rodriguez  wondered 
to  what  manner  of  land  he  was  coming.  But  con- 
tinually the  branches  of  some  tree  obscured  his  vie\ 
and  the  only  indication  he  had  of  it  was  from  the 
road  he  trod,  which  seemed  to  tell  him  that  men 
came  here  seldom.  Beyond  every  huge  tree  that  they 
passed  as  they  went  downhill  Rodriguez  hoped  to 
get  a  better  view,  but  always  there  stood  another  to 
close  the  vista.  It  was  some  while  before  he  realised 
that  he  had  entered  a  forest.  They  were  come  to 
Shadow  Valley. 

The  grandeur  of  this  place,  penetrated  by  shafts 
of  sunlight,  coloured  by  flashes  of  floating  butter- 
flies, filled  by  the  chaunt  of  birds  rising  over  the  long 
hum  of  insects,  lifted  the  fallen  spirits  of  Rodriguez 
as  he  walked  on  through  the  morning. 

He  still  would  not  have  exchanged  his  rose  for  the 
whole  forest;  but  in  the  mighty  solemnity  of  the 
forest  his  mourning  for  the  lady  that  he  feared  he 
had  lost  no  longer  seemed  the  only  solemn  thing: 
indeed,  the  sombre  forest  seemed  well  attuned  to  his 
mood;  and  what  complaint  have  we  against  Fate 
wherever  this  is  so.  His  mood  was  one  of  tragic 
loss,  the  defeat  of  an  enterprise  that  his  hopes  had 
undertaken,  to  seize  victory  on  the  apex  of  the  world, 
to  walk  all  his  days  only  just  outside  the  edge  of 
Paradise,  for  no  less  than  that  his  hopes  and  his  first 
love  promised  each  other;  and  then  he  walked  de- 
spairing in  small  rain.  In  this  mood  Fate  had  led 
him  to  solemn  old  oaks  standing  huge  among 
shadows;  and  the  grandeur  of  their  grey  grip  on  the 


176  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

earth  that  had  been  theirs  for  centuries  was  akin  to 
the  grandeur  of  the  high  hopes  he  had  had,  and  his 
despair  was  somehow  soothed  by  the  shadows.  And 
then  the  impudent  birds  seemed  to  say  "Hope 
again." 

They  walked  for  miles  into  the  forest  and  Ht  a 
fire  before  noon,  for  Rodriguez  had  left  Lowlight 
very  early.  And  by  it  Morano  cooked  bacon  again 
and  dried  his  master's  cloak.  They  ate  the  bacon  and 
sat  by  the  fire  till  all  their  clothes  were  dry,  and  when 
the  flames  from  the  great  logs  fell  and  only  embers 
glowed  they  sat  there  still,  with  hands  spread  to  the 
warmth  of  the  embers;  for  to  those  who  wander  a 
fire  is  food  and  rest  and  comfort.  Only  as  the  em- 
bers turned  grey  did  they  throw  earth  over  their  fire 
and  continue  their  journey.  Their  road  grew 
smaller  and  the  forest  denser. 

They  had  walked  some  miles  from  the  place  where 
they  lit  their  fire,  when  a  somewhat  unmistakable 
sound  made  Rodriguez  look  ahead  of  him.  An 
arrow  had  struck  a  birch  tree  on  the  right  side,  ten  or 
twelve  paces  in  front  of  him ;  and  as  he  looked  up  an- 
other struck  it  from  the  opposite  side  just  level  with 
the  first;  the  two  were  sticking  in  it  ten  feet  or  so 
from  the  ground.  Rodriguez  drew  his  sword.  But 
when  a  third  arrow  went  over  his  head  from  behind 
and  struck  the  birch  tree,  whut!  just  between  the 
other  two,  he  perceived,  as  duller  minds  could  have 
done,  that  it  was  a  hint,  and  he  returned  his  sword 
and  stood  still.  Morano  questioned  his  master  with 
his  eyes,  which  were  asking  what  was  to  be  done 


SHADOW  VALLEY  177 

next.  But  Rodriguez  shrugged  his  shoulders :  there 
was  no  fighting  with  an  invisible  foe  that  could 
shoot  like  that.  That  much  Morano  knew,  but  he 
did  not  know  that  there  might  not  be  some  law  of 
Chivalry  that  would  demand  that  Rodriguez  should 
wave  his  sword  in  the  air  or  thrust  at  the  birch  tree 
until  someone  shot  him.  When  there  seemed  to  be 
no  such  rule  Morano  was  well  content.  And  pres- 
ently men  came  quietly  on  to  the  road  from  different 
parts  of  the  wood.  They  were  dressed  in  brown 
leather  and  wore  leaf-green  hats,  and  round  each 
one's  neck  hung  a  disk  of  engraved  copper.  They 
came  up  to  the  travellers  carrying  bows,  and  the 
leader  said  to  Rodriguez  : 

"Senor,  all  travellers  here  bring  tribute  to  the 
King  of  Shadow  Valley,"  at  the  mention  of  whom 
all  touched  hats  and  bowed  their  heads.  "What  do 
you  bring  us?" 

Rodriguez  thought  of  no  answer;  but  after  a 
moment  he  said,  for  the  sake  of  loyalty :  'T  know 
one  king  only." 

"There  is  only  one  king  in  Shadow  Valley,"  said 
the  bowman. 

"He  brings  a  tribute  of  emeralds,"  said  another, 
looking  at  Rodriguez'  scabbard.  And  then  they 
searched  him  and  others  search  Morano.  There  were 
eight  or  nine  of  them,  all  in  their  leaf-green  hats, 
with  ribbons  round  their  necks  of  the  same  colour 
to  hold  the  copper  disks.  They  took  a  gold  coin 
from  Morano  and  grey  greasy  pieces  of  silver.  One 
of  them  took  his  frying-pan;  but  he  looked  so  piti- 


178  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

fully  at  them  as  he  said  simply,  "I  starve,"  that  the 
frying-pan  was  restored  to  him. 

They  unbuckled  Rodriguez'  belt  and  took  from 
him  sword  and  scabbard  and  three  gold  pieces  from 
his  purse.  Next  they  found  the  gold  piece  that  was 
hanging  round  his  neck,  still  stuffed  inside  his  clothes 
where  he  had  put  it  when  he  was  riding.  Having 
examined  it  they  put  it  back  inside  his  clothes,  while 
the  leader  rebuckled  his  sword-belt  about  his  waist 
and  returned  him  his  three  gold-pieces. 

Others  returned  his  money  to  Morano.  "Master," 
said  the  leader,  bowing  to  Rodriguez,  his  green  hat 
in  hand,  "under  our  King,  the  forest  is  yours." 

Morano  was  pleased  to  hear  this  respect  paid  to 
his  master,  but  Rodriguez  was  so  surprised  that  he 
who  was  never  curt  without  reason  found  no  more 
to  say  than  "Why?" 

"Because  we  are  your  servants,"  said  the  other. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Rodriguez. 

"We  are  the  green  bowmen,  master,"  he  said, 
"who  hold  this  forest  against  all  men  for  our 
King." 

"And  who  is  he?"  said  Rodriguez. 

And  the  bowman  answered :  "The  King  of 
Shadow  Valley,"  at  which  the  others  all  touched  hats 
and  bowed  heads  again.  And  Rodriguez  seeing 
that  the  mystery  would  grow  no  clearer  for  any  in- 
formation to  be  had  from  them  said :  "Conduct  me 
to  your  king." 

"That,  master,  we  cannot  do,"  said  the  chief  of 
the  bowmen.     "There  be  many  trees  in  this  forest, 


SHADOW  VALLEY  179 

and  behind  any  one  of  them  he  holds  his  court. 
When  he  needs  us  there  is  his  clear  horn.  But  when 
men  need  him  who  knows  which  shadow  is  his  of  all 
that  lie  in  the  forest?"  Whether  or  not  there  was 
anything  interesting  in  the  mystery,  to  Rodriguez  it 
was  merely  annoying ;  and  finding  it  grew  no  clearer 
he  turned  his  attention  to  shelter  for  the  night,  to 
which  all  travellers  give  a  thought  at  least  once,  be- 
tween noon  and  sunset. 

"Is  there  any  house  on  this  road,  senor,"  he  said, 
"in  which  we  could  rest  the  night?" 

"Ten  miles  from  here,"  said  he,  "and  not  far 
from  the  road  you  take  is  the  best  house  we  have  in 
the  forest.  It  is  yours,  master,  for  as  long  as  you 
honour  it." 

"Come  then,"  said  Rodriguez,  "and  I  thank  you, 
sefior." 

So  they  all  started  together,  Rodriguez  with  the 
leader  going  in  front  and  Morano  following  with  all 
the  bowmen.  And  soon  the  bowmen  were  singing 
songs  of  the  forest,  hunting  songs,  songs  of  the  win- 
ter; and  songs  of  the  long  summer  evenings,  songs 
of  love.  Cheered  by  this  merriment,  the  miles 
slipped  by. 

And  Rodriguez  gathered  from  the  songs  they  sang 
something  of  what  they  were  and  of  how  they  lived 
in  the  forest,  living  amongst  the  woodland  creatures 
till  these  men's  ways  were  almost  as  their  ways; 
killing  what  they  needed  for  food  but  protecting  the 
woodland  things  against  all  others;  straying  out 
amongst  the  villages  in  summer  evenings,  and  al- 


i8o  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

ways  welcome;  and  owning  no  allegiance  but  to  the 
King  of  the  Shadow  Valley. 

And  the  leader  told  Rodriguez  that  his  name  was 
Miguel  Threegeese,  given  him  on  account  of  an 
exploit  in  his  youth  when  he  lay  one  night  with  his 
bow  by  one  of  the  great  pools  in  the  forest,  where 
the  geese  come  in  winter.  He  said  the  forest  was  a 
hundred  miles  long,  lying  mostly  along  a  great  val- 
ley, which  they  were  crossing.  And  once  they  had 
owned  allegiance  to  kings  of  Spain,  but  now  to  none 
but  the  King  of  the  Shadow  Valley,  for  the  King  of 
Spain's  men  had  once  tried  to  cut  some  of  the  forest 
down,  and  the  forest  was  sacred. 

Behind  him  the  men  sang  on  of  woodland  things, 
and  of  cottage  gardens  in  the  villages :  with  singing 
and  laughter  they  came  to  their  journey's  end.  A 
cottage  as  though  built  by  peasants  with  boundless 
material  stood  in  the  forest.  It  was  a  thatched  cot- 
tage built  in  the  peasant's  way  but  of  enormous  size. 
The  leader  entered  first  and  whispered  to  those 
within,  who  rose  and  bowed  to  Rodriguez  as  he 
entered,  twenty  more  bowmen  who  had  been  sitting 
at  a  table.  One  does  not  speak  of  the  banqueting- 
hall  of  a  cottage,  but  such  it  appeared,  for  it  occu- 
pied more  than  half  of  the  cottage  and  was  as  large 
as  the  banqueting-hall  of  any  castle.  It  was  made 
of  great  beams  of  oak,  and  high  at  either  end  just 
under  the  thatch  were  windows  with  their  little 
square  panes  of  bulging  bluish  glass,  which  at  that 
time  was  rare  in  Spain.  A  table  of  oak  ran  down 
the  length  of  it,  cut  from  a  single  tree,  polished  and 


SHADOW  VALLEY  i8i 

dark  from  the  hands  of  many  men  that  had  sat  at  it. 
Boar  spears  hung  on  the  wall,  great  antlers  and 
boars'  tusks  and,  carved  in  the  oak  of  the  wall  and 
again  on  a  high,  dark  chair  that  stood  at  the  end  of 
the  long  table  empty,  a  crown  with  oak  leaves  that 
Rodriguez  recognised.  It  was  the  same  as  the  one 
that  was  cut  on  his  gold  coin,  which  he  had  given 
no  further  thought  to,  riding  to  Lowlight,  and 
which  the  face  of  Serafina  had  driven  from  his 
mind  altogether.  "But,"  he  said,  and  then  was 
silent,  thinking  to  learn  more  by  watching  than  by 
talking.  And  his  companions  of  the  road  came  in 
and  all  sat  down  on  the  benches  beside  the  ample 
table,  and  a  brew  was  brought,  a  kind  of  pale  mead, 
that  they  called  forest  water.  And  all  drank;  and, 
sitting  at  the  table,  watching  them  more  closely  than 
he  could  as  he  walked  in  the  forest,  Rodriguez  saw 
by  the  sunlight  that  streamed  in  low  through  one 
window  that  on  the  copper  disks  they  wore  round 
their  necks  on  green  ribbon  the  design  was  again 
the  same.  It  was  much  smaller  than  his  on  the  gold 
coin  but  the  same  strange  leafy  crown.  "Wear  it  as 
you  go  through  Shadow  Valley,"  he  now  seemed 
to  remember  the  man  saying  to  him  who  put  it  round 
his  neck.  But  why?  Clearly  because  it  was  the 
badge  of  this  band  of  men.  And  this  other  man  was 
one  of  them. 

His  eyes  strayed  back  to  the  great  design  on  the 
wall.  "The  crown  of  the  forest,"  said  Miguel  as  he 
saw  his  eyes  wondering  at  it,  "as  you  doubtless 
know,  senor." 


i82  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Why  should  he  know  ?  Of  course  because  he  bore 
the  design  himself.  "Who  wears  it?"  said  Rodri- 
guez. 

"The  King  of  Shadow  Valley." 

Morano  was  without  curiosity ;  he  did  not  question 
good  drink;  he  sat  at  the  table  with  a  cup  of  horn 
in  his  hand,  as  happy  as  though  he  had  come  to  his 
master's  castle,  though  that  had  not  yet  been  won. 

The  sun  sank  under  the  oaks,  filling  the  hall  with  a 
ruddy  glow,  turning  the  boar  spears  scarlet  and 
reddening  the  red  faces  of  the  merry  men  of  the  bow. 

A  dozen  of  the  men  went  out ;  to  relieve  the  guard 
in  the  forest,  Miguel  explained.  And  Rodriguez 
learned  that  he  had  come  through  a  line  of  sentries 
without  ever  seeing  one.  Presently  a  dozen  others 
came  in  from  their  posts  and  unslung  their  bows 
and  laid  them  on  pegs  on  the  wall  and  sat  down  at 
the  table.  Whereat  there  were  whispered  words  and 
they  all  rose  and  bowed  to  Rodriguez.  And  Rodri- 
guez had  caught  the  words  "A  prince  of  the  forest." 
What  did  it  mean? 

Soon  the  long  hall  grew  dim,  and  his  love  for  the 
light  drew  Rodriguez  out  to  watch  the  sunset.  And 
there  was  the  sun  under  indescribable  clouds,  turning 
huge  and  yellow  among  the  trunks  of  the  trees  and 
casting  glory  munificently  down  glades.  It  set,  and 
the  western  sky  became  blood-red  and  lilac:  from 
the  other  end  of  the  sky  the  moon  peeped  out  of 
night.  A  hush  came  and  a  chill,  and  a  glory  of 
colour,  and  a  dying  away  of  light;  and  in  the  hush 
the  mystery  of  the  great  oaks  became  magical.     A 


SHADOW  VALLEY  183 

blackbird  blew  a  tune  less  of  this  earth  than  of  fairy- 
land. 

Rodriguez  wished  that  he  could  have  had  a  less 
ambition  than  to  win  a  castle  in  the  wars,  for  in 
those  glades  and  among  those  oaks  he  felt  that 
happiness  might  be  found  under  roofs  of  thatch. 
But  having  come  by  his  ambition  he  would  not  de- 
sert it. 

Now  rushlights  were  lit  in  the  great  cottage  and 
the  window  of  the  long  room  glowed  yellow.  A 
fountain  fell  in  the  stillness  that  he  had  not  heard 
before.  An  early  nightingale  tuned  a  tentative  note. 
"The  forest  is  fair,  is  it  not?"  said  Miguel. 

Rodriguez  had  no  words  to  say.  To  turn  into 
words  the  beauty  that  was  now  shining  in  his 
thoughts,  reflected  from  the  evening  there,  was  no 
easier  than  for  wood  to  reflect  all  that  is  seen  in  the 
mirror. 

"You  love  the  forest,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Master,"  said  Miguel,  "it  is  the  only  land  in 
which  we  should  live  our  days.  There  are  cities  and 
roads  but  man  is  not  meant  for  them.  I  know  not, 
master,  what  God  intends  about  us ;  but  in  cities  we 
are  against  the  intention  at  every  step,  while  here, 
why,  we  drift  along  with  it." 

"I,  too,  would  live  here  always,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"The  house  is  yours,"  said  Miguel.  And  Rodri- 
guez answered :  "I  go  to-morrow  to  the  wars." 

They  turnefl  round  then  and  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  cottage,  and  entered  the  candlelight  and  the 
loud  talk  of  many  men  out  of  the  hush  of  the  twi- 


i84  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

light.  But  they  passed  from  the  room  at  once  by 
a  door  on  the  left,  and  came  thus  to  a  large  bedroom, 
the  only  other  room  in  the  cottage. 

"Your  room,  master,"  said  Miguel  Threegeese. 

It  was  not  so  big  as  the  hall  where  the  bowmen  sat, 
but  it  was  a  goodly  room.  The  bed  was  made  of 
carved  wood,  for  there  were  craftsmen  in  the  forest, 
and  a  hunt  went  all  the  way  round  it  with  dogs  and 
deer.  Four  great  posts  held  a  canopy  over  it :  they 
were  four  young  birch-trees  seemingly  still  wearing 
their  bright  bark,  but  this  had  been  painted  on  their 
bare  timber  by  some  woodland  artist.  The  chairs 
had  not  the  beauty  of  the  great  ages  of  furniture,  but 
they  had  a  dignity  that  the  age  of  commerce  has  not 
dreamed  of.  Each  one  was  carved  out  of  a  single 
block  of  wood :  there  was  no  join  in  them  anywhere. 
One  of  them  lasts  to  this  day. 

The  skins  of  deer  covered  the  long  walls.  There 
were  great  basins  and  jugs  of  earthenware.  All  was 
forest-made.  The  very  shadows  whispering  among 
themselves  in  corners  spoke  of  the  forest.  The  room 
was  rude;  but  being  without  ornament,  except  for 
the  work  of  simple  craftsmen,  it  had  nothing  there  to 
offend  the  sense  of  right  of  anyone  entering  its  door, 
by  any  jarring  conflict  with  the  purposes  and  tradi- 
tions of  the  land  in  which  it  stood.  All  the  wood- 
land spirits  might  have  entered  there,  and  slept — if 
spirits  sleep — in  the  great  bed,  and  left  at  dawn 
unoffended.  In  fact  that  age  had  not  yet  learned 
vulgarity. 

When  Miguel  Threegeese  left  Morano  entered. 


SHADOW  VALLEY  185 

"Master,"  he  said,  "they  are  making  a  banquet 
for  you." 

"Good,"  said  Rodriguez.  "We  will  eat  it."  And 
he  waited  to  hear  what  Morano  had  come  to  say,  for 
he  could  see  that  it  was  more  than  this. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "I  have  been  talking  with 
the  bowman.  And  they  will  give  you  whatever  you 
ask.  They  are  good  people,  master,  and  they  will 
give  you  all  things,  whatever  you  asked  of  them." 

Rodriguez  would  not  show  to  his  servant  that  it 
all  still  puzzled  him. 

"They  are  very  amiable  men,"  he  said. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  coming  to  the  point, 
"that  Garda,  they  will  have  walked  after  us.  They 
must  be  now  in  Lowlight.  They  have  all  to-night 
to  get  new  shoes  on  their  horses.  And  to-morrow, 
master,  to-morrow,  if  we  be  still  on  foot  .  .  ." 

Rodriguez  was  thinking.  Morano  seemed  to  him 
to  be  talking  sense. 

"You  would  like  another  ride?"  he  said  to 
Morano. 

"Master,"  he  answered,  "riding  is  horrible.  But 
the  public  garrotter,  he  is  a  bad  thing  too."  And  he 
meditatively  stroked  the  bristles  under  his  chin. 

"They  would  give  us  horses?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Anything,  master,  I  am  sure  of  it.  They  are 
good  people." 

"They'll  have  news  of  the  road  by  which  they  left 
Lowlight,"  said  Rodriguez  reflectively. 

"They  say  la  Garda  dare  not  enter  the  forest," 
Morano  continued,  "but  thirty  miles  from  here  the 


i86  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

forest  ends.  They  could  ride  round  while  we  go 
through." 

"They  would  give  us  horses?"  said  Rodriguez 
again. 

"Surely,"  said  Morano. 

And  then  Rodriguez  asked  where  they  cooked  the 
banquet,  since  he  saw  that  there  were  only  two 
rooms  in  the  great  cottage  and  his  inquiring  eye  saw 
no  preparations  for  cooking  about  the  fireplace  of 
either.  And  Morano  pointed  through  a  window  at 
the  back  of  the  room  to  another  cottage  among  the 
trees,  fifty  paces  away.  A  red  glow  streamed  from 
its  windows,  growing  strong  in  the  darkening 
forest. 

"That  is  their  kitchen,  master,"  he  said.  "The 
whole  house  is  kitchen."  His  eyes  looked  eagerly  at 
it,  for,  though  he  loved  bacon,  he  welcomed  the 
many  signs  of  a  dinner  of  boundless  variety. 

As  he  and  his  master  returned  to  the  long  hall 
great  plates  of  polished  wood  were  being  laid  on  the 
table.  They  gave  Rodriguez  a  place  on  the  right  of 
the  great  chair  that  had  the  crown  of  the  forest 
carved  on  the  back. 

"Whose  chair  is  that?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"The  King  of  Shadow  Valley,"  they  said. 

"He  is  not  here  then,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Who  knows?"  said  a  bowman. 

"It  is  his  chair,"  said  another;  "his  place  is  ready. 
None  knows  the  ways  of  the  King  of  Shadow  Val- 
ley." 

"He  comes  sometimes  at  this  hour,"  said  a  third, 


SHADOW  VALLEY  187 

"as  the  boar  comes  to  Heather  Pool  at  sunset.  But 
not  always.     None  knows  his  ways." 

"H  they  caught  the  King."  said  another,  "the 
forest  would  perish.  None  loves  it  as  he,  none 
knows  its  ways  as  he,  no  other  could  so  defend  it." 

"Alas,"  said  Miguel,  "some  day  when  he  be  not 
here  they  will  enter  the  forest."  All  knew  whom  he 
meant  by  they.  "And  the  goodly  trees  will  go."  He 
spoke  as  a  man  foretelling  the  end  of  the  world; 
and,  as  men  to  whom  no  less  was  announced,  the 
others  listened  to  him.  They  all  loved  Shadow 
Valley. 

In  this  man's  time,  so  they  told  Rodriguez,  none 
entered  the  forest  to  hurt  it,  no  tree  was  cut  except 
by  his  command,  and  venturous  men  claiming  rights 
from  others  than  him  seldom  laid  axe  long  to  tree 
before  he  stood  near,  stepping  noiselessly  from 
among  shadows  of  trees  as  though  he  were  one  of 
their  spirits  coming  for  vengeance  on  man. 

All  this  they  told  Rodriguez,  but  nothing  definite 
they  told  of  their  king,  where  he  was  yesterday, 
where  he  might  be  now ;  and  any  questions  he  asked 
of  such  things  seemed  to  offend  a  law  of  the 
forest. 

And  then  the  dishes  were  carried  in,  to  Morano's 
great  delight :  wuth  wide  blue  eyes  he  watched  the 
produce  of  that  mighty  estate  coming  in  through  the 
doorway  cooked.  Boars'  heads,  woodcock,  herons, 
plates  full  of  fishes,  all  manner  of  small  eggs,  a  roe- 
deer  and  some  rabbits,  were  carried  in  by  procession. 
And  the  men  set  to  with  their  ivory-handled  knives, 


i88  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

each  handle  being  the  whole  tusk  of  a  boar.  And 
with  their  eating  came  merriment  and  tales  of  past 
huntings  and  talk  of  the  forest  and  stories  of  the 
King  of  Shadow  Valley. 

And  always  they  spoke  of  him  not  only  with  re- 
spect but  also  with  the  discretion,  Rodriguez  thought, 
of  men  that  spoke  of  one  who  might  be  behind  them 
at  that  moment,  and  one  who  tolerated  no  trifling 
with  his  authority.  Then  they  sang  songs  again,  such 
as  Rodriguez  had  heard  on  the  road,  and  their  merry 
lives  passed  clearly  before  his  mind  again,  for  we  live 
in  our  songs  as  no  men  live  in  histories.  And  again 
Rodriguez  lamented  his  hard  ambition  and  his  long, 
vague  journey,  turning  away  twice  from  happiness; 
once  in  the  village  of  Lowlight  where  happiness  de- 
serted him,  and  here  in  the  goodly  forest  where  he 
jilted  happiness.  How  well  could  he  and  Morano  live 
as  two  of  this  band,  he  thought;  leaving  all  cares  in 
cities :  for  there  dwelt  cares  in  cities  even  then.  Then 
he  put  the  thought  away.  And  as  the  evening  wore 
away  with  merry  talk  and  with  song,  Rodriguez 
turned  to  Miguel  and  told  him  how  it  was  with  la 
Garda  and  broached  the  matter  of  horses.  And 
while  the  others  sang  Miguel  spoke  sadly  to  him. 
"Master,"  he  said,  "la  Garda  shall  never  take  you 
in  Shadow  Valley,  yet  if  you  must  leave  us  to  make 
your  fortune  in  the  wars,  though  your  fortune  waits 
you  here,  there  be  many  horses  in  the  forest,  and  you 
and  your  servant  shall  have  the  best." 

"To-morrow  morning,  seiior?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Even  so,"  said  Miguel. 


SHADOW  VALLEY  189 

"And  how  shall  I  send  them  to  you  again?"  said 
Rodriguez. 

"Master,  they  are  yours,"  said  Miguel. 

But  this  Rodriguez  would  not  have,  for  as  yet  he 
only  guessed  what  claim  at  all  he  had  upon  Shadow 
Valley,  his  speculations  being  far  more  concerned 
with  the  identity  of  the  hidalgo  that  he  had  fought 
the  night  before,  how  he  concerned  Serafina,  who 
had  owned  the  rose  that  he  carried :  in  fact  his  mind 
was  busy  with  such  studies  as  were  proper  to  his  age. 
And  at  last  they  decided  between  them  on  the  house 
of  a  lowland  smith,  who  was  the  furthest  man  that 
the  bowmen  knew  who  was  secretly  true  to  their 
king.  At  his  house  Rodriguez  and  Morano  should 
leave  the  horses.  He  dwelt  sixty  miles  from  the 
northern  edge  of  the  forest,  and  would  surely  give 
Rodriguez  fresh  horses  if  he  possessed  them,  for  he 
was  a  true  man  to  the  bowman.  His  name  was 
Gonzalez  and  he  dwelt  in  a  queer  green  house. 

They  turned  then  to  listen  a  moment  to  a  hunting 
song  that  all  the  bowmen  were  singing  about  the 
death  of  a  boar.  Its  sheer  merriment  constrained 
them.  Then  Miguel  spoke  again.  "You  should  not 
leave  the  forest,"  he  said  sadly. 

Rodriguez  sighed :  it  was  decided.  Then  Miguel 
told  him  of  his  road,  which  ran  north-eastward  and 
would  one  day  bring  him  out  of  Spain.  He  told 
him  how  towns  on  the  way,  and  the  river  Ebro,  and 
with  awe  and  reverence  he  spoke  of  the  mighty 
Pyrenees.  And  then  Rodriguez  rose,  for  the  start 
was  to  be  at  dawn,  and  walked  quietly  through  the 


190  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

singing  out  of  the  hall  to  the  room  where  the  great 
bed  was.  And  soon  he  slept,  and  his  dreams  joined 
in  the  endless  hunt  through  Shadow  Valley  that  was 
carved  all  round  the  timbers  of  his  bed. 

All  too  soon  he  heard  voices,  voices  far  off  at  first, 
to  which  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer;  thus  he  woke 
grudgingly  out  of  the  deeps  of  sleep.  It  was  Miguel 
and  Morano  calling  him. 

When  at  length  he  reached  the  hall  all  the  mer- 
riment of  the  evening  was  gone  from  it  but  the  sober 
beauty  of  the  forest  flooded  in  through  both  windows 
with  early  sunlight  and  bird-song ;  so  that  it  had  not 
the  sad  appearance  of  places  in  which  we  have  re- 
joiced, when  we  revisit  them  next  day  or  next  genera- 
tion and  find  them  all  deserted  by  dance  and  song. 

Rodriguez  ate  his  breakfast  while  the  bowmen 
waited  with  their  bows  all  strung  by  the  door.  When 
he  was  ready  they  all  set  off  in  the  early  light  through 
the  forest. 

Rodriguez  did  not  criticise  his  ambition ;  it  sailed 
too  high  above  his  logic  for  that ;  but  he  regretted  it, 
as  he  went  through  the  beauty  of  the  forest  among 
these  happy  men.  But  we  must  all  have  an  ambition, 
and  Rodriguez  stuck  to  the  one  he  had.  He  had 
another,  but  it  was  an  ambition  with  weak  wings  that 
could  not  come  to  hope.  It  depended  upon  the 
first.  If  he  could  win  a  castle  in  the  wars  he  felt 
that  he  might  even  yet  hope  towards  Lowlight. 

Little  was  said,  and  Rodriguez  was  all  alone  with 
his  thoughts.  In  two  hours  they  met  a  bowman 
holding  two  horses.     They  had  gone  eight  miles. 


SHADOW  VALLEY  191 

"Farewell  to  the  forest,"  said  Miguel  to  Rod- 
riguez. There  was  almost  a  query  in  his  voice. 
Would  Rodriguez  really  leave  them?  it  seemed  to 
say. 

"Farewell,"  he  answered. 

Morano  too  had  looked  sideways  towards  his 
master,  seeming  almost  to  wonder  what  his  answer 
would  be:  when  it  came  he  accepted  it  and  walked 
to  the  horses.  Rodriguez  mounted :  willing  hands 
helped  up  Morano.  "Farewell,"  said  Miguel  once 
more.     And  all  the  bowmen  shouted  "Farewell." 

"Make  my  farewell,"  said  Rodriguez,  "to  the  King 
of  Shadow  Valley." 

A  twig  cracked  in  the  forest. 
"Hark,"  said  Miguel.     "Maybe  that  was  a  boar." 
"I  cannot  wait  to  hunt,"  said  Rodriguez,  "for  I 
have  far  to  go." 

"IMaybe,"  said  Miguel,  "it  was  the  King's  farewell 
to  you." 

Rodriguez  looked  into  the  forest  and  saw  nothing. 
"Farewell,"  he  said  again.  The  horses  were  fresh 
and  he  let  his  go.  Morano  lumbered  behind  him. 
In  two  miles  they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  and 
up  a  rocky  hill,  and  so  to  the  plains  again,  and  one 
more  adventure  lay  behind  them.  Rodriguez  turned 
round  once  on  the  high  ground  and  took  a  long  look 
back  on  the  green  undulations  of  peace.  The  forest 
slept  there  as  though  empty  of  men. 

Then  they  rode.  In  the  first  hour,  easily  cantering, 
they  did  ten  miles.  Then  they  settled  down  to  what 
those  of  our  age  and  country  and  occupation  know  as 


192  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

a  hound- jog,  which  is  seven  miles  an  hour.  And 
after  two  hours  they  let  the  horses  rest.  It  was  the 
hour  of  the  frying-pan.  Morano,  having  dismounted, 
stretched  himself  dolefully;  then  he  brought  out  all 
manner  of  meats.  Rodriguez  looked  wonderingly  at 
them. 

"For  the  wars,  master,"  said  Morano.  To  what- 
ever wars  they  went,  the  green  bowmen  seemed  to 
have  supplied  an  ample  commissariat. 

They  ate.  And  Rodriguez  thought  of  the  wars, 
for  the  thought  of  Serafina  made  him  sad,  and  his 
rejection  of  the  life  of  the  forest  saddened  him  too; 
so  he  sought  to  draw  from  the  future  the  comfort 
that  he  could  not  get  from  the  past. 

They  mounted  again  and  rode  again  for  three 
hours,  till  they  saw  very  far  off  on  a  hill  a  village  that 
Miguel  had  told  them  was  fifty  miles  from  the 
forest. 

"We  rest  the  night  there,"  said  Rodriguez  point- 
ing, though  it  was  yet  seven  or  eight  miles  away. 

"All  the  Saints  be  praised,"  said  Morano. 

They  dismounted  then  and  went  on  foot,  for  the 
horses  were  weary.  At  evening  they  rode  slowly  into 
the  village.  At  an  inn  whose  hospitable  looks  were 
as  cheerfully  unlike  the  Inn  of  the  Dragon  and 
Knight  as  possible,  they  demanded  lodging  for  all 
four.  They  went  first  to  the  stable,  and  when  the 
horses  had  been  handed  over  to  the  care  of  a  groom 
they  returned  to  the  inn,  and  mine  host  and  Rodri- 
guez had  to  help  Morano  up  the  three  steps  to  the 
door,  for  he  had  walked  nine  miles  that  day  and 


SHADOW  VALLEY  193 

ridden  fifty  and  he  was  too  weary  to  climb  the  steps. 

And  later  Rodriguez  sat  down  alone  to  his  supper 
at  a  table  well  and  variously  laden,  for  the  doors  of 
mine  hosts'  larder  were  opened  wide  in  his  honour; 
but  Rodriguez  ate  sparingly,  as  do  weary  men. 

And  soon  he  sought  his  bed.  And  on  the  old 
echoing  stairs  as  he  and  mine  host  ascended  they  met 
Morano  leaning  against  the  wall.  What  shall  I  say 
of  Morano?  Reader,  your  sympathy  is  all  ready  to 
go  out  to  the  poor,  weary  man.  He  does  not  entirely 
deserve  it,  and  shall  not  cheat  you  of  it.  Reader, 
Morano  was  drunk.  I  tell  you  this  sorry  truth  rather 
than  that  the  knave  should  have  falsely  come  by  your 
pity.  And  yet  he  is  dead  now  over  three  hundred 
years,  having  had  his  good  time  to  the  full.  Does  he 
deserve  your  pity  on  that  account?  Or  your  envy? 
And  to  whom  or  what  would  you  give  it?  Well, 
anyhow,  he  deserved  no  pity  for  being  drunk.  And 
yet  he  was  thirsty,  and  too  tired  to  eat,  and  sore  in 
need  of  refreshment,  and  had  had  no  more  cause  to 
learn  to  shun  good  wine  than  he  had  had  to  shun 
the  smiles  of  princesses;  and  there  the  good  wine 
had  been,  sparkling  beside  him  merrily. 

And  now,  why  now,  fatigued  as  he  had  been  an 
hour  or  so  ago  (but  time  had  lost  its  tiresome,  rest- 
less meaning),  now  he  stood  firm  while  all  things  and 
all  men  staggered. 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez  as  he  passed  that  fool- 
ish figure,  "we  go  sixty  miles  to-morrow." 

"Sixty,  master?"  said  Morano,  "A  hundred: 
two  hundred." 


194  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"It  is  best  to  rest  now,"  said  his  master. 

"Two  hundred,  master,  two  hundred,"  Morano 
repUed. 

And  then  Rodriguez  left  him,  and  heard  him 
muttering  his  challenge  to  distance  still,  "Two  hun- 
dred, two  hundred,"  till  the  old  stairway  echoed 
with  it. 

And  so  he  came  to  his  chamber,  of  which  he 
remembered  little,  for  sleep  lurked  there  and  he  was 
soon  with  dreams,  faring  further  with  them  than 
my  pen  can  follow. 


THE    EIGHTH    CHRONICLE 


195 


THE  EIGHTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW   HE    TRAVELLED   FAR 

ONE  blackbird  on  a  twig  near  Rodriguez'  window 
sang,  then  there  were  fifty  singing,  and  morn- 
ing arose  over  Spain  all  golden  and  wonderful. 

Rodriguez  descended  and  found  mine  host  rubbing 
his  hands  by  his  good  table,  with  a  look  on  his  face 
that  seemed  to  welcome  the  day  and  to  find  good 
auguries  concerning  it.  But  Morano  looked  as  one 
that,  having  fallen  from  some  far  better  place,  is  ill- 
content  with  earth  and  the  mundane  way. 

He  had  scorned  breakfast;  but  Rodriguez  break- 
fasted. And  soon  the  two  were  bidding  mine  host 
farewell.  They  found  their  horses  saddled,  they 
mounted  at  once,  and  rode  off  slowly  in  the  early  day. 
The  horses  were  tired  and,  slowly  trotting  and  walk- 
ing, and  sometimes  dismounting  and  dragging  the 
horses  on,  it  was  nearly  two  hours  before  they  had 
done  ten  miles  and  come  to  the  house  of  the  smith  in 
a  rocky  village :  the  street  was  cobbled  and  the  houses 
were  all  of  stone. 

197 


198  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

The  early  sparkle  had  gone  from  the  dew,  but  it 
was  still  morning,  and  many  a  man  but  now  sat 
down  to  his  breakfast,  as  they  arrived  and  beat  on 
the  door. 

Gonzalez  the  smith  opened  it,  a  round  and  ruddy 
man  past  fifty,  a  citizen  following  a  reputable  trade, 
but  once,  ah  once,  a  bowman. 

"Sefior,"  said  Rodriguez,  "our  horses  are  weary. 
We  have  been  told  you  will  change  them  for  us." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  said  Gonzalez. 

"The  green  bowmen  in  Shadow  Valley,"  the 
young  man  answered. 

As  a  meteor  at  night  lights  up  with  its  greenish 
glare  flowers  and  blades  of  grass,  twisting  long 
shadows  behind  them,  lights  up  lawns  and  bushes  and 
the  deep  places  of  woods,  scattering  quiet  night  for 
a  moment,  so  the  unexpected  answer  of  Rodriguez 
lit  memories  in  the  mind  of  the  smith  all  down  the 
long  years;  and  a  twinkle  and  a  sparkle  of  those 
memories  dancing  in  woods  long  forsaken  flashed 
from  his  eyes. 

"The  green  bowmen,  sefior,"  said  Gonzalez.  "Ah, 
Shadow  Valley!" 

"We  left  it  yesterday,"  said  Rodriguez. 

When  Gonzalez  heard  this  he  poured  forth  ques- 
tions. "The  forest,  sefior;  how  is  it  now  with  the 
forest?  Do  the  boars  still  drink  at  Heather  Pool? 
Do  the  geese  go  still  to  Greatmarsh?  They  should 
have  come  early  this  year.  How  is  it  with  Larios, 
Raphael,  Migada?    Who  shoots  woodcock  now?" 

The   questions   flowed   on   past   answering,    past 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         199 

remembering:  he  had  not  spoken  of  the  forest  for 
years.     And  Rodriguez  answered  as  such  questions 
are  always  answered,  saying  that  all  was  well,  and 
giving  Gonzalez  some  little  detail  of  some  trifling 
affair  of  the  forest,  which  he  treasured  as  small  shells 
are  treasured  in  inland  places  when  travellers  bring 
them  from  the  sea ;  but  all  that  he  heard  of  the  forest 
seemed  to  the  smith  like  something  gathered  on  a 
far  shore  of  time.    Yes,  he  had  been  a  bowman  once. 
But  he  had  no  horses.    One  horse  that  drew  a  cart, 
but  no  horses   for  riding  at  all.     And  Rodriguez 
thought  of  the  immense  miles  lying  between  him  and 
the  foreign  land,  keeping  him  back  from  his  am- 
bition ;  they  all  pressed  on  his  mind  at  once.     The 
smith  was  sorry,  but  he  could  not  make  horses. 
"Show  him  your  coin,  master,"  said  Morano. 
"Ah,  a  small  token,"  said  Rodriguez,  drawing  it 
forth  still  on  its  green  ribbon  under  his  clothing. 
"The  bowman's  badge,  is  it  not?" 

Gonzalez  looked  at  it,  then  looked  at  Rodriguez. 
"Master,"  he  said,  "you  shall  have  your  horses. 
Give  me  time :  you  shall  have  them.  Enter,  master." 
And  he  bowed  and  widely  opened  the  door.  "If  you 
will  breakfast  in  my  house  while  I  go  to  the  neigh- 
bours you  shall  have  some  horses,  master." 

So  they  entered  the  house,  and  the  smith  with 
many  bows  gave  the  travellers  over  to  the  care  of  his 
wife,  who  saw  from  her  husband's  manner  that  these 
were  persons  of  importance  and  as  such  she  treated 
them  both,  and  as  such  entertained  them  to  their 
second  breakfast.    And  this  meant  they  ate  heartily, 


200  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

as  travellers  can,  who  can  go  without  a  breakfast  or 
eat  two ;  and  those  who  dwell  in  cities  can  do  neither. 

And  while  the  plump  dame  did  them  honour  they 
spoke  no  word  of  the  forest,  for  they  knew  not  what 
place  her  husband's  early  years  had  in  her  imagi- 
nation. 

They  had  barely  finished  their  meal  when  the 
sound  of  hooves  on  cobbles  was  heard  and  Gonzalez 
beat  on  the  door.  They  all  went  to  the  door  and 
found  him  there  with  two  horses.  The  horses  were 
saddled  and  bridled.  They  fixed  the  stirrups  to 
please  them,  then  the  travellers  mounted  at  once. 
Rodriguez  made  his  grateful  farewell  to  the  wife  of 
the  smith :  then,  turning  to  Gonzalez,  he  pointed  to 
the  two  tired  horses  which  had  waited  all  the  while 
with  their  reins  thrown  over  a  hook  on  the  wall. 

"Let  the  owner  of  these  have  them  till  his  own 
come  back,"  he  said,  and  added :  "How  far  may  I 
take  these?" 

"They  are  good  horses,"  said  the  smith. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"They  could  do  fifty  miles  to-day,"  Gonzalez 
continued,  "and  to-morrow,  why,  forty,  or  a  little 
more." 

"And  where  will  that  bring  me?"  said  Rodriguez, 
pointing  to  the  straight  road  which  was  going  his 
way,  north-eastward. 

"That,"  said  Gonzalez,  "that  should  bring  you 
some  ten  or  twenty  miles  short  of  Saspe." 

"And  where  shall  I  leave  the  horses?"  Rodriguez 
asked. 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         201 

"Master,"  Gonzalez  said,  "in  any  village  where 
there  be  a  smith,  if  you  say  'these  are  the  horses  of 
the  smith  Gonzalez,  who  will  come  for  them  one  day 
from  here,'  they  will  take  them  in  for  you,  master." 

"But,"  and  Gonzalez  walked  a  little  away  from 
his  wife,  and  the  horses  walked  and  he  went  beside 
them,  "north  of  here  none  knows  the  bowmen. 
You  will  get  no  fresh  horses,  master.  What  will  you 
do?" 

"Walk,"  said  Rodriguez. 

Then  they  said  farewell,  and  there  was  a  look  on 
the  face  of  the  smith  almost  such  as  the  sons  of  men 
might  have  worn  in  Genesis  when  angels  visited  them 
briefly. 

They  settled  down  into  a  steady  trot  and  trotted 
thus  for  three  hours.  Noon  came,  and  still  there 
was  no  rest  for  Morano,  but  only  dust  and  the 
monotonous  sight  of  the  road,  on  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed :  nearly  an  hour  more  passed,  and  at  last  he 
saw  his  master  halt  and  turn  round  in  his  saddle. 

"Dinner,"  Rodriguez  said. 

All  Morano's  weariness  vanished :  it  was  the  hour 
of  the  frying-pan  once  more. 

They  had  done  more  than  twenty-one  miles  from 
the  house  of  Gonzalez.  Nimbly  enough,  in  his  joy 
at  feeling  the  ground  again,  Morano  ran  and  gath- 
ered sticks  from  the  bushes.  And  soon  he  had  a  fire, 
and  a  thin  column  of  grey  smoke  going  up  from  it 
that  to  him  was  always  home. 

When  the  frying-pan  warmed  and  lard  sizzled, 
when  the  smell  of  bacon  mingled  with  the  smoke, 


202  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

then  Morano  was  where  all  wise  men  and  all  unwise 
try  to  be,  and  where  some  of  one  or  the  other  some- 
times come  for  awhile,  by  unthought  paths  and  are 
gone  again;  for  that  smoky,  mixed  odour  was 
happiness. 

Not  for  long  men  and  horses  rested,  for  soon 
Rodriguez'  ambition  was  drawing  him  down  the 
road  again,  of  which  he  knew  that  there  remained  to 
be  travelled  over  two  hundred  miles  in  Spain,  and 
how  much  beyond  that  he  knew  not,  nor  greatly 
cared,  for  beyond  the  frontier  of  Spain  he  believed 
there  lay  the  dim,  desired  country  of  romance  where 
roads  were  long  no  more  and  no  rain  fell.  They 
mounted  again  and  pushed  on  for  this  country.  Not 
a  village  they  saw  but  that  Morano  hoped  that  here 
his  affliction  would  end  and  that  he  would  dismount 
and  rest ;  and  always  Rodriguez  rode  on  and  Morano 
followed,  and  with  a  barking  of  dogs  they  were  gone 
and  the  village  rested  behind  them.  For  many  an 
hour  their  slow  trot  carried  them  on;  and  Morano, 
clutching  the  saddle  with  worn  arms,  already  was 
close  to  despair,  when  Rodriguez  halted  in  a  little 
village  at  evening  before  an  inn.  They  had  done 
their  fifty  miles  from  the  house  of  Gonzalez,  and 
even  a  little  more. 

Morano  rolled  from  his  horse  and  beat  on  the 
small  green  door.  Mine  host  came  out  and  eyed  them, 
preening  the  point  of  his  beard;  and  Rodriguez  sat 
his  horse  and  looked  at  him.  They  had  not  the  wel- 
come here  that  Gonzalez  gave  them ;  but  there  was  a 
room  to  spare  for  Rodriguez,  and  Morano  was  prom- 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         203 

ised  what  he  asked  for,  straw ;  and  there  was  shelter 
to  be  had  for  the  horses.  It  was  all  the  travellers 
needed. 

Children  peered  at  the  strangers,  gossips  peeped 
out  of  doors  to  gather  material  concerning  them, 
dogs  noted  their  coming,  the  eyes  of  the  little  village 
watched  them  curiously,  but  Rodriguez  and  Morano 
passed  into  the  house  unheeding ;  and  past  those  two 
tired  men  the  mellow  evening  glided  by  like  a  dream. 
Tired  though  Rodriguez  was  he  noticed  a  certain 
politeness  in  mine  host  while  he  waited  at  supper, 
which  had  not  been  noticeable  when  he  had  first 
received  him,  and  rightly  put  this  down  to  some  talk 
of  Morano's;  but  he  did  not  guess  that  Morano 
had  opened  wide  blue  eyes  and,  babbling  to  his  host, 
had  guilelessly  told  him  that  his  master  a  week  ago 
had  killed  an  uncivil  inn-keeper. 

Scarcely  were  late  birds  home  before  Rodriguez 
sought  his  bed,  and  not  all  of  them  were  sleeping 
before  he  slept. 

Another  morning  shone,  and  appeared  to  Spain, 
and  all  at  once  Rodriguez  was  wide  awake.  It  was 
the  eighth  day  of  his  wanderings. 

When  he  had  breakfasted  and  paid  his  due  in 
silver  he  and  Morano  departed,  leaving  mine  host 
upon  his  doorstep  bowing  with  an  almost  perplexed 
look  on  his  shrewd  face  as  he  took  the  points  of 
moustachios  and  beard  lightly  in  turn  between  finger 
and  thumb:  for  we  of  our  day  enter  vague  details 
about  ourselves  in  the  book  downstairs  when  we  stay 
at  inns,  but  it  was  mine  host's  custom  to  gather  all 


204  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

that  with  his  sharp  eyes.     Whatever  he  gathered, 
Rodriguez  and  Morano  were  gone. 

But  soon  their  pace  dwindled,  the  trot  slackening 
and  falling  to  a  walk ;  soon  Rodriguez  learned  what 
it  is  to  travel  with  tired  horses.  To  Morano  riding 
was  merely  riding,  and  the  discomforts  of  that  were 
so  great  that  he  noticed  no  difference.  But  to 
Rodriguez,  his  continual  hitting  and  kicking  his 
horse's  sides,  his  dislike  of  doing  it,  the  uselessness 
of  it  when  done,  his  ambition  before  and  the  tired 
beast  underneath,  the  body  always  some  yards  behind 
the  beckoning  spirit,  were  as  great  vexation  as  a 
traveller  knows.  It  came  to  dismounting  and  walk- 
ing miles  on  foot;  even  then  the  horses  hung  back. 
They  halted  an  hour  over  dinner  while  the  horses 
grazed  and  rested,  and  they  returned  to  their  road 
refreshed  by  the  magic  that  was  in  the  frying-pan, 
but  the  horses  were  no  fresher. 

When  our  bodies  are  slothful  and  lie  heavy,  never 
responding  to  the  spirit's  bright  promptings,  then 
we  know  dullness :  and  the  burden  of  it  is  the  graver 
for  hearing  our  spirits  call  faintly,  as  the  chains  of  a 
buccaneer  in  some  deep  prison,  who  hears  a  snatch  of 
his  comrades'  singing  as  they  ride  free  by  the  coast, 
would  grow  more  unbearable  than  ever  before.  But 
the  weight  of  his  tired  horse  seemed  to  hang  heavier 
on  the  fanciful  hopes  that  Rodriguez'  dreams  had 
made.  Farther  than  ever  seemed  the  Pyrenees,  huger 
than  ever  their  barrier,  dimmer  and  dimmer  grew  the 
lands  of  romance. 

If  the  hopes  of  Rodriguez  were  low,  if  his  fancies 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         205 

were  faint,  what  material  have  I  left  with  which  to 
make  a  story  with  glitter  enough  to  hold  my  readers' 
eyes  to  the  page:  for  know  that  mere  dreams  and 
idle  fancies,  and  all  amorous,  lyrical,  unsubstantial 
things,  are  all  that  we  writers  have  of  which  to  make 
a  tale,  as  they  are  all  that  the  Dim  Ones  have  to  make 
the  story  of  man. 

Sometimes  riding,  sometimes  going  on  foot,  with 
the  thought  of  the  long,  long  miles  always  crowding 
upon  Rodriguez,  overwhelming  his  hopes;  till  even 
the  castle  he  was  to  win  in  the  wars  grew  too  pale  for 
his  fancy  to  see,  tired  and  without  illusions,  they 
came  at  last  by  starlight  to  the  glow  of  a  smith's 
forge.  He  must  have  done  forty-five  miles  and  he 
knew  they  were  near  Caspe. 

The  smith  was  working  late,  and  looked  up  when 
Rodriguez  halted.  Yes,  he  knew  Gonzalez,  a  master 
in  the  trade :  there  was  a  welcome  for  his  horses. 

But  for  the  two  human  travellers  there  were  ex- 
cuses, even  apologies,  but  no  spare  beds.  It  was  the 
same  in  the  next  three  or  four  houses  that  stood 
together  by  the  road.  And  the  fever  of  Rodriguez' 
ambition  drove  him  on,  though  Morano  would  have 
lain  down  and  slept  where  they  stood,  though  he  him- 
self was  weary.  The  smith  had  received  his  horses; 
after  that  he  cared  not  whether  they  gave  him  shelter 
or  not,  the  alternative  being  the  road,  and  that  bring- 
ing nearer  his  wars  and  the  castle  he  was  to  win. 
And  that  fancy  that  led  his  master  Morano  allowed 
always  to  lead  him  too,  though  a  few  more  miles  and 
he  would  have  fallen  asleep  as  he  walked  and  dropped 


2o6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

by  the  roadside  and  slept  on.  Luckily  they  had  gone 
barely  two  miles  from  the  forge  where  the  horses 
rested,  when  they  saw  a  high,  dark  house  by  the  road 
and  knocked  on  the  door  and  found  shelter.  It  was 
an  old  woman  who  let  them  in,  a  farmer's  wife,  and 
she  had  room  for  them  and  one  mattress,  but  no  bed. 
They  were  too  tired  to  eat  and  did  not  ask  for  food, 
but  at  once  followed  her  up  the  booming  stairs  of  her 
house,  which  were  all  dark  but  for  her  candle,  and  so 
came  among  huge  minuetting  shadows  to  the  long 
loft  at  the  top.  There  was  a  mattress  there  which 
the  old  woman  laid  out  for  Rodriguez,  and  a  heap  of 
hay  for  Morano.  Just  for  a  moment,  as  Rodriguez 
climbed  the  last  step  of  the  stair  and  entered  the 
loft  where  the  huge  shadows  twirled  between  the 
one  candle's  light  and  the  unbeaten  darkness  in 
corners,  just  for  a  moment  romance  seemed  to 
beckon  to  him;  for  a  moment,  in  spite  of  his 
fatigue  and  dejection,  in  spite  of  the  possibility  of 
his  quest  being  crazy,  for  a  moment  he  felt  that 
great  shadows  and  echoing  boards,  the  very  cobwebs 
even  that  hung  from  the  black  rafters,  were  all 
romantic  things;  he  felt  that  his  was  a  glorious 
adventure  and  that  all  these  things  that  filled  the 
loft  in  the  night  were  such  as  should  fitly  attend  on 
youth  and  glory.  In  a  moment  that  feeling  was  gone 
he  knew  not  why  it  had  come.  And  though  he  re- 
membered it  till  grey  old  age,  when  he  came  to  know 
the  causes  of  many  things,  he  never  knew  what 
romance  might  have  to  do  with  shadows  or  echoes  at 
night  in  an  empty  room,  and  only  knew  of  such 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         207 

fancies  that  they  came  from  beyond  his  understand- 
ing, whether  from  wisdom  or  folly. 

Morano  was  first  asleep,  as  enormous  snores  testi- 
fied, almost  before  the  echoes  had  died  away  of  the 
footsteps  of  the  old  woman  descending  the  stairs ;  but 
soon  Rodriguez  followed  him  into  the  region  of 
dreams,  where  fantastic  ambitions  can  live  with  less 
of  a  struggle  than  in  the  broad  light  of  day :  he 
dreamed  he  walked  at  night  down  a  street  of  castles 
strangely  colossal  in  an  awful  starlight,  with  doors 
too  vast  for  any  human  need,  whose  battlements  were 
far  in  the  heights  of  night;  and  chose,  it  being  in 
time  of  war,  the  one  that  should  be  his;  but  the 
gargoyles  on  it  were  angry  and  spoiled  the  dream. 

Dream  followed  dream  with  furious  rapidity,  as 
the  dreams  of  tired  men  do,  racing  each  other,  jos- 
tling and  mingling  and  dancing,  an  ill-assorted  com- 
pany: myriads  went  by,  a  wild,  grey,  cloudy 
multitude ;  and  with  the  last  walked  dawn. 

Rodriguez  rose  more  relieved  to  quit  so  tumul- 
tuous a  rest  than  refreshed  by  having  had  it. 

He  descended,  leaving  Morano  to  sleep  on,  and 
not  till  the  old  dame  had  made  a  breakfast  ready  did 
he  return  to  interrupt  his  snores. 

Even  as  he  awoke  upon  his  heap  of  hay  Alorano  re- 
mained as  true  to  his  master's  fantastic  quest  as  the 
camel  is  true  to  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  He  awoke 
grumbling,  as  the  camel  grumbles  at  dawn  when  the 
packs  are  put  on  him  where  he  lies,  but  never  did  he 
doubt  that  they  went  to  victorious  wars  where  his 
master  would  win  a  castle  splendid  with  towers. 


2o8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Breakfast  cheered  both  the  travellers.  And  then 
the  old  lady  told  Rodriguez  that  Caspe  was  but  a 
three  hours*  walk,  and  that  cheered  them  even  more, 
for  Caspe  is  on  the  Ebro,  which  seemed  to  mark  for 
Rodriguez  a  stage  in  his  journey,  being  carried  easily 
in  his  imagination,  like  the  Pyrenees.  What  road  he 
would  take  when  he  reached  Caspe  he  had  not 
planned.  And  soon  Rodriguez  expressed  his  grati- 
tude, full  of  fervour,  with  many  a  flowery  phrase 
which  lived  long  in  the  old  dame's  mind;  and  the 
visit  of  those  two  travellers  became  one  of  the 
strange  events  of  that  house  and  was  chief  of  the 
memories  that  faintly  haunted  the  rafters  of  the  loft 
for  years. 

They  did  not  reach  Caspe  in  three  hours,  but  went 
lazily,  being  weary;  for  however  long  a  man  defies 
fatigue  the  hour  comes  when  it  claims  him.  The 
knowledge  that  Caspe  lay  near  with  sure  lodging  for 
the  night,  soothed  Rodriguez'  impatience.  And  as 
they  loitered  they  talked,  and  they  decided  that  la 
Garda  must  now  be  too  far  behind  to  pursue  any 
longer.  They  came  in  four  hours  to  the  bank  of 
the  Ebro  and  there  saw  Caspe  near  them;  but  they 
dined  once  more  on  the  grass,  sitting  beside  the  river, 
rather  than  enter  the  town  at  once,  for  there  had 
grown  in  both  travellers  a  liking  for  the  wanderers' 
green  table  of  earth. 

It  was  a  time  to  make  plans.  The  country  of 
romance  was  far  away  and  they  were  without 
horses. 

"Will  you  buy  horses,  master?"  said  Morano. 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         209 

"We  might  not  get  them  over  the  Pyrenees,"  said 
Rodriguez,  though  he  had  a  better  reason,  which  was 
that  three  gold  pieces  did  not  buy  two  saddled  horses. 
There  were  no  more  friends  to  hire  from.  Morano 
grew  thoughtful.  He  sat  with  his  feet  dangling  over 
the  bank  of  the  Ebro. 

"Master,"  he  said  after  a  while,  "this  river  goes 
our  way.  Let  us  come  by  boat,  master,  and  drift 
down  to  France  at  our  ease." 

To  get  a  river  over  a  range  of  mountains  is  harder 
than  to  get  horses.  Some  such  difficulty  Rodriguez 
implied  to  him ;  but  Morano,  having  come  slowly  by 
an  idea,  parted  not  so  easily  with  it. 

"It  goes  our  way,  master,"  he  repeated,  and 
pointed  a  finger  at  the  Ebro. 

At  this  moment  a  certain  song  that  boatmen  sing 
on  that  river,  when  the  current  is  with  them  and  they 
have  nothing  to  do  but  be  idle  and  their  lazy  thoughts 
run  to  lascivious  things,  came  to  the  ears  of  Rodri- 
guez and  Morano;  and  a  man  with  a  bright  blue 
sash  steered  down  the  Ebro.  He  had  been  fishing 
and  was  returning  home. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "that  knave  shall  row  us 
there." 

Rodriguez  seeing  that  the  idea  was  fixed  in  Mo- 
rano's  mind  determined  that  events  would  move  it 
sooner  than  argument,  and  so  made  no  reply. 

"Shall  I  tell  him,  master?"  asked  Morano. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez,  "if  he  can  row  us  over  the 
Pyrenees." 

This  was  the  permission  that  Morano  sought,  and 


2IO  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

a  hideous  yell  broke  from  his  throat  hailing  the 
boatman.  The  boatman  looked  up  lazily,  a  young 
man  with  strong  brown  arms,  turning  black  mous- 
taches towards  Morano.  Again  Morano  hailed  him 
and  ran  along  the  bank,  while  the  boat  drifted  down 
and  the  boatman  steered  in  towards  Morano.  Some- 
how Morano  persuaded  him  to  come  in  to  see  what 
he  wanted ;  and  in  a  creek  he  ran  his  boat  aground, 
and  there  he  and  Morano  argued  and  bargained.  But 
Rodriguez  remained  where  he  was,  wondering  why 
it  took  so  long  to  turn  his  servant's  mind  from  that 
curious  fancy.    At  last  Morano  returned.     - 

"Well?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "he  will  row  us  to  the 
Pyrenees." 

"The  Pyrenees!"  said  Rodriguez.  "The  Ebro 
runs  into  the  sea."  For  they  had  taught  him  this  at 
the  college  of  San  Josephus. 

"He  will  row  us  there,"  said  Morano,  "for  a  gold 
piece  a  day,  rowing  five  hours  each  day." 

Now  between  them  they  had  but  four  gold  pieces ; 
but  that  did  not  make  the  Ebro  run  northward.  It 
seemed  that  the  Ebro,  after  going  their  way,  as 
Morano  had  said,  for  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  was 
joined  by  the  river  Segre,  and  that  where  the  Ebro 
left  them,  turning  eastwards,  the  course  of  the  Segre 
took  them  on  their  way:  but  it  would  be  rowing 
against  the  current. 

"How  far  is  it?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"A  hundred  miles,  he  says,"  answered  Morano. 
"He  knows  it  well." 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         211 

Rodriguez  calculated  swiftly.  First  he  added 
thirty  miles ;  for  he  knew  that  his  countrymen  took  a 
cheerful  view  of  distance,  seldom  allowing  any  dis- 
tance to  oppress  them  under  its  true  name  at  the  out- 
set of  a  journey;  then  he  guessed  that  the  boatman 
might  row  five  miles  an  hour  for  the  first  thirty  miles 
with  the  stream  of  the  Ebro,  and  he  hoped  that  he 
might  row  three  against  the  Segre  until  they  came 
near  the  mountains,  where  the  current  might  grow 
too  strong. 

"Morano,"  he  said,  "we  shall  have  to  row  too," 

"Row,  master?"  said  Morano. 

"We  can  pay  him  for  four  days,"  said  Rodriguez. 
"If  we  all  row  we  may  go  far  on  our  way." 

"It  is  better  than  riding,"  replied  Morano  with 
entire  resignation. 

And  so  they  walked  to  the  creek  and  Rodriguez 
greeted  the  boatman,  whose  name  was  Perez;  and 
they  entered  the  boat  and  he  rowed  them  down  to 
Caspe.  And,  in  the  house  of  Perez,  Rodriguez  slept 
that  night  in  a  large  dim  room,  untidy  with  diverse 
wares:  they  slept  on  heaps  of  things  that  pertained 
to  the  river  and  fishing.  Yet  it  was  late  before 
Rodriguez  slept,  for  in  sight  of  his  mind  came 
glimpses  at  last  of  the  end  of  his  journey ;  and,  when 
he  slept  at  last,  he  saw  the  Pyrenees.  Through  the 
long  night  their  mighty  heads  rejected  him,  staring 
immeasurably  beyond  him  in  silence,  and  then  in 
happier  dreams  they  beckoned  him  for  a  moment. 
Till  at  last  a  bird  that  had  entered  the  city  of  Caspe 
sang  clear  and  it  was  dawn.     With  that  first  light 


212  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Rodriguez  arose  and  awoke  Morano.  Together  they 
left  that  long  haven  of  lumber  and  found  Perez 
already  stirring.  They  ate  hastily  and  all  went  down 
to  the  boat,  the  unknown  that  waits  at  the  end  of  all 
strange  journeys  quickening  their  steps  as  they  went 
through  the  early  light. 

Perez  rowed  first  and  the  others  took  their  turns 
and  so  they  went  all  the  morning  down  the  broad 
flood  of  the  Ebro,  and  came  in  the  afternoon  to  its 
meeting  place  with  the  Segre.  And  there  they 
landed  and  stretched  their  limbs  on  shore  and  lit 
a  fire  and  feasted,  before  they  faced  the  current 
that  would  be  henceforth  against  them.  Then  they 
rowed  on. 

When  they  landed  by  starlight  and  unrolled  a  sheet 
of  canvas  that  Perez  had  put  in  the  boat,  and  found 
what  a  bad  time  starlight  is  for  pitching  a  tent, 
Rodriguez  and  Morano  had  rowed  for  four  hours 
each  and  Perez  had  rowed  for  five.  They  carried  no 
timber  in  the  boat  but  used  the  oars  for  tent-poles 
and  cut  tent-pegs  with  a  small  hatchet  that  Perez  had 
brought. 

They  stumbled  on  rocks,  tore  the  canvas  on  bushes, 
lost  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again ;  in  fact  they 
were  learning  the  craft  of  wandering.  Yet  at  last 
their  tent  was  up  and  a  good  fire  comforting  them 
outside,  and  Morano  had  cooked  the  food  and  they 
had  supped  and  talked,  and  after  that  they  slept. 
And  over  them  sleeping  the  starlight  faded  away,  and 
in  the  greyness  that  none  of  them  dreamed  was  dawn 
five  clear  notes  were  heard  so  shrill  in  the  night  that 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         213 

Rodriguez  half  waking  wondered  what  bird  of  the 
darkness  called,  and  learned  from  the  answering 
chorus  that  it  was  day. 

He  woke  Morano  who  rose  in  that  chilly  hour 
and,  striking  sparks  among  last  night's  embers,  soon 
had  a  fire :  they  hastily  made  a  meal  and  wrapped 
up  their  tent  and  soon  they  were  going  onward 
against  the  tide  of  the  Segre.  And  that  day  Morano 
rowed  more  skilfully;  and  Rodriguez  unwrapped  his 
mandolin  and  played,  reclining  in  the  boat  while  he 
rested  from  rowing.  And  the  mandolin  told  them 
all,  what  the  words  of  none  could  say,  that  they 
fared  to  adventure  in  the  land  of  Romance,  to  the 
overthrow  of  dullness  and  the  sameness  of  all  drear 
schemes  and  the  conquest  of  discontent  in  the  spirit 
of  man;  and  perhaps  it  sang  of  a  time  that  has  not 
yet  come,  or  the  mandolin  lied. 

That  evening  three  wiser  men  made  their  camp 
before  starlight.    They  were  now  far  up  the  Segre. 

For  thirteen  hours  next  day  they  toiled  at  the  oars 
or  lay  languid.  And  while  Rodriguez  rested  he 
played  on  his  mandolin.  The  Segre  slipped  by 
them. 

They  seemed  like  no  men  on  their  way  to  war,  but 
seemed  to  loiter  as  the  bright  river  loitered,  which 
slid  seaward  in  careless  ease  and  was  wholly  freed 
from  time. 

On  this  day  they  heard  men  speak  of  the  Pyrenees, 
two  men  and  a  woman  walking  by  the  river;  their 
voices  came  to  the  boat  across  the  water,  and  they 
spoke  of  the  Pyrenees.     And  on  the  next  day  they 


214  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

heard  men  speak  of  war.  War  that  some  farmers 
had  fled  from  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain. 
When  Rodriguez  heard  these  chance  words  his 
dreams  came  nearer  till  they  almost  touched  the  edges 
of  reality. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  Perez'  rowing.  He  rowed 
well  although  they  neared  the  cradle  of  the  Segre 
and  he  struggled  against  them  in  his  youth.  Grey 
peaks  began  to  peer  that  had  nursed  that  river.  Grey 
faces  of  stone  began  to  look  over  green  hills.  They 
were  the  Pyrenees. 

When  Rodriguez  saw  at  last  the  Pyrenees  he  drew 
a  breath  and  was  unable  to  speak.  Soon  they  were 
gone  again  below  the  hills :  they  had  but  peered  for 
a  moment  to  see  who  troubled  the  Segre. 

And  the  sun  set  and  still  they  did  not  camp,  but 
Perez  rowed  on  into  the  starlight.  That  day  he 
rowed  six  hours. 

They  pitched  their  tent  as  well  as  they  could  in 
the  darkness ;  and,  breathing  a  clear  new  air  all  crisp 
from  the  Pyrenees,  they  slept  outside  the  threshold 
of  adventure. 

Rodriguez  awoke  cold.  Once  more  he  heard  the 
first  blackbird  who  sings  clear  at  the  edge  of  night  all 
alone  in  the  greyness,  the  nightingale's  only  rival ;  a 
rival  like  some  unknown  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  who 
for  a  moment  leads  some  well-loved  song,  in  notes 
more  liquid  than  a  master-singer's:  and  all  the  crowd 
joins  in  and  his  voice  is  lost,  and  no  one  learns  his 
name.  At  once  a  host  of  birds  answered  him  out  of 
dim  bushes,  whose  shapes  had  barely  as  yet  emerged 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         215 

from  night.  And  in  this  chorus  Perez  awoke,  and 
even  Morano. 

They  all  three  breakfasted  together,  and  then  the 
wanderers  said  good-bye  to  Perez.  And  soon  he  was 
gone  with  his  bright  blue  sash,  drifting  homewards 
with  the  Segre,  well  paid  yet  singing  a  little  sadly  as 
he  drifted;  for  he  had  been  one  of  a  quest,  and  now 
he  left  it  at  the  edge  of  adventure,  near  solemn 
mountains  and,  beyond  them,  romantic,  near-un- 
known lands.  So  Perez  left  and  Rodriguez  and 
Morano  turned  again  to  the  road,  all  the  more  lightly 
because  they  had  not  done  a  full  day's  march  for  so 
long,  and  now  a  great  one  unrolled  its  leagues  before 
them. 

The  heads  of  the  mountains  showed  themselves 
again.  They  tramped  as  in  the  early  days  of  their 
quest.  And  as  they  went  the  mountains,  unveiling 
themselves  slowly,  dropping  film  after  film  of  dis- 
tance that  hid  their  mighty  forms,  gradually  revealed 
to  the  wanderers  the  magnificence  of  their  beauty. 
Till  at  evening  Rodriguez  and  Morano  stood  on  a 
low  hill,  looking  at  that  tremendous  range,  which 
lifted  far  above  the  fields  of  Earth,  as  though  its 
mountains  were  no  earthly  things  but  sat  with  Fate 
and  watched  us  and  did  not  care. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano  stood  and  gazed  in  silence. 
They  had  come  twenty  miles  since  morning,  they 
were  tired  and  hungry,  but  the  mountains  held 
them :  they  stood  there  looking  neither  for  rest 
nor  food.  Beyond  them,  sheltering  under  the  low 
hills,  they  saw  a  little  village.     Smoke  straggled  up 


2i6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

from  it  high  into  the  evening:  beyond  the  village 
woods  sloped  away  upwards.  But  far  above  smoke 
or  woods  the  bare  peaks  brooded.  Rodriguez  gazed 
on  their  austere  solemnity,  wondering  what  secret 
they  guarded  there  for  so  long,  guessing  what  mes- 
sage they  held  and  hid  from  man;  until  he  learned 
that  the  mystery  they  guarded  among  them  was  of 
things  that  he  knew  not  and  could  never  know. 

Tinkle-ting  said  the  bells  of  a  church,  invisible 
among  the  houses  of  that  far  village.  Tinkle-ting 
said  the  crescent  of  hills  that  sheltered  it.  And  after 
a  while,  speaking  out  of  their  grim  and  enormous 
silences  with  all  the  gravity  of  their  hundred  ages, 
Tinkle-ting  said  the  mountains.  With  this  trivial 
message  Echo  returned  from  among  the  homes  of 
the  mighty,  where  she  had  run  with  the  small  bell's 
tiny  cry  to  trouble  their  crowned  aloofness. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano  pressed  on,  and  the  moun- 
tains cloaked  themselves  as  they  went,  in  air  of  many 
colours;  till  the  stars  came  out  and  the  lights  of  the 
village  gleamed.  In  darkness,  with  surprise  in  the 
tones  of  the  barking  dogs,  the  two  wanderers  came 
to  the  village  where  so  few  ever  came,  for  it  lay  at 
the  end  of  Spain,  cut  off  by  those  mighty  rocks,  and 
they  knew  not  much  of  what  lands  lay  beyond. 

They  beat  on  a  door  below  a  hanging  board,  on 
which  was  written  "The  Inn  of  the  World's  End" : 
a  wandering  scholar  had  written  it  and  had  been  well 
paid  for  his  work,  for  in  those  days  writing  was  rare. 
The  door  was  opened  for  them  by  the  host  of  the 
inn,  and  they  entered  a  room  in  which  men  who  had 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         217 

supped  were  sitting  at  a  table.  They  were  all  of  them 
men  from  the  Spanish  side  of  the  mountains,  farmers 
come  into  the  village  on  the  affairs  of  Mother  Earth ; 
next  day  they  would  be  back  at  their  farms  again; 
and  of  the  land  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  that 
was  so  near  now  they  knew  nothing,  so  that  it  still 
remained  for  the  wanderers  a  thing  of  mystery 
wherein  romance  could  dwell :  and  because  they  knew 
nothing  of  that  land  the  men  at  the  inn  treasured  all 
the  more  the  rumours  that  sometimes  came  from  it, 
and  of  these  they  talked,  and  mine  host  listened 
eagerly,  to  whom  all  tales  were  brought  soon  or  late ; 
and  most  he  loved  to  hear  tales  from  beyond  the 
mountains. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano  sat  still  and  listened,  and 
the  talk  was  all  of  war.  It  was  faint  and  vague  like 
fable,  but  rumour  clearly  said  War,  and  the  other 
side  of  the  mountains.  It  may  be  that  no  man  has 
a  crazy  ambition  without  at  moments  suspecting  it; 
but  prove  it  by  the  touchstone  of  fact  and  he  becomes 
at  once  as  a  woman  whose  invalid  son,  after  years  of 
seclusion  indoors,  wins  unexpectedly  some  athletic 
prize.  When  Rodriguez  heard  all  this  talk  of  wars 
quite  near  he  thought  of  his  castle  as  already  won; 
his  thoughts  went  further  even,  floating  through 
Lowlight  in  the  glowing  evening,  and  drifting  up 
and  down  past  Serafina's  house  below  the  balcony 
where  she  sat  for  ever. 

Some  said  the  Duke  would  never  attack  the  Prince 
because  the  Duke's  aunt  was  a  princess  from  the 
Troubadour's   country.      Another    said   that   there 


218  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

would  surely  be  war.  Others  said  that  there  was 
war  already,  and  too  late  for  man  to  stop  it.  All  said 
it  would  soon  be  over. 

And  one  man  said  that  it  was  the  last  war  that 
would  come,  because  gunpowder  made  fighting  im- 
possible. It  could  smite  a  man  down,  he  said,  at 
two  hundred  paces,  and  a  man  be  slain  not  knowing 
whom  he  fought.  Some  loved  fighting  and  some 
loved  peace,  he  said,  but  gunpowder  suited  none. 

"I  like  not  the  sound  of  that  gunpowder,  master," 
said  Morano  to  Rodriguez. 

"Nobody  likes  it,"  said  the  man  at  the  table.  "It 
is  the  end  of  war."  And  some  sighed  and  some  were 
glad.  But  Rodriguez  determined  to  push  on  before 
the  last  war  was  over. 

Next  morning  Rodriguez  paid  the  last  of  his  silver 
pieces  and  set  off  with  Morano  before  any  but  mine 
host  were  astir.  There  was  nothing  but  the  moun- 
tains in  front  of  them. 

They  climbed  all  the  morning  and  they  came  to 
the  fir  woods.  There  they  lit  a  good  fire  and  Morano 
brought  out  his  frying-pan.  Over  the  meal  they  took 
stock  of  their  provisions  and  found  that,  for  all  the 
store  Morano  had  brought  from  the  forest,  they  had 
now  only  food  for  three  days;  and  they  were  quite 
without  money.  Money  in  those  uplifted  wastes 
seemed  trivial,  but  the  dwindling  food  told  Rod- 
riguez that  he  must  press  on ;  for  man  came  among 
those  rocky  monsters  supplied  with  all  his  needs,  or 
perished  unnoticed  before  their  stony  faces.  All  the 
afternoon  they  passed  through  the  fir  woods,  and  as 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         219 

■shadows  began  to  grow  long  they  passed  the  last  tree. 
The  village  and  all  the  fields  about  it  and  the  road  by 
which  they  had  come  were  all  spread  out  below  them 
like  little  trivial  things  dimly  remembered  from  very 
long  ago  by  one  whose  memory  weakens.  Distance 
had  dwarfed  them,  and  the  cold  regard  of  those 
mighty  peaks  ignored  them.  And  then  a  shadow  fell 
on  the  village,  then  tiny  lights  shone  out.  It  was 
night  down  there.  Still  the  two  wanderers  climbed 
on  in  the  daylight.  With  their  faces  to  the  rocks 
they  scarce  saw  night  climb  up  behind  them.  But 
when  Rodriguez  looked  up  at  the  sky  to  see  how 
much  light  was  left,  and  met  the  calm  gaze  of  the 
evening  star,  he  saw  that  Night  and  the  peaks  were 
met  together,  and  understood  all  at  once  how  puny  an 
intruder  is  man. 

"Alorano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "we  must  rest  here 
for  the  night." 

Morano  looked  round  him  with  an  air  of  discon- 
tent, not  with  his  master's  words  but  with  the  rocks' 
angular  hardness.  There  was  scarce  a  plant  of  any 
kind  near  them  now.  They  were  near  the  snow, 
which  had  flushed  like  a  wild  rose  at  sunset  but  was 
now  all  grey.  Grey  cliffs  seemed  to  be  gazing  sheer 
at  eternity;  and  here  was  man,  the  creature  of  a 
moment,  who  had  strayed  in  the  cold  all  homeless 
among  his  betters.  There  was  no  welcome  for  them 
there :  whatever  feeling  great  mountains  evoke,  that 
feeling  was  clear  in  Rodriguez  and  Morano.  They 
were  all  amongst  those  that  have  other  aims,  other 
ends,  and  know  naught  of  man.    A  bitter  chill  from 


220  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

the  snow  and  from  starry  space  drove  this  thought 
home. 

They  walked  on  looking  for  a  better  place,  as  men 
will,  but  found  none.  And  at  last  they  lay  down  on 
the  cold  earth  under  a  rock  that  seemed  to  give 
shelter  from  the  wind,  and  there  sought  sleep;  but 
cold  came  instead,  and  sleep  kept  far  from  the  tre- 
mendous presences  of  the  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees  that 
gazed  on  things  far  from  here. 

An  ageing  moon  arose,  and  Rodriguez  touched 
Morano  and  rose  up;  and  the  two  went  slowly  on, 
tired  though  they  were.  Picture  the  two  tiny  figures, 
bent,  shivering  and  weary,  walking  with  clumsy 
sticks  cut  in  the  wood,  amongst  the  scorn  of  those 
tremendous  peaks,  which  the  moon  showed  all  too 
clearly. 

They  got  little  warmth  from  walking,  they  were 
too  weary  to  run ;  and  after  a  while  they  halted  and 
burned  their  sticks,  and  got  a  little  warmth  for  some 
moments  from  their  fire,  which  burned  feebly  and 
strangely  in  those  inhuman  solitudes. 

Then  they  went  on  again  and  their  track  grew 
steeper.  They  rested  again  for  fatigue,  and  rose  and 
climbed  again  because  of  the  cold;  and  all  the  while 
the  peaks  stared  over  them  to  spaces  far  beyond  the 
thought  of  man. 

Long  before  Spain  knew  anything  of  dawn  a  mon- 
ster high  in  heaven  smiled  at  the  sun,  a  peak  out- 
towering  all  its  aged  children.  It  greeted  the  sun  as 
though  this  lonely  thing,  that  scorned  the  race  of  man 
since  ever  it  came,  had  met  a  mighty  equal  out  in 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         221 

Space  The  vast  peak  glowed,  and  the  rest  of  its 
grey  race  took  up  the  greeting  leisurely  one  by  one. 
Still  it  was  night  in  all  Spanish  houses. 

Rodriguez  and  Morano  were  warmed  by  that  cold 
peak's  glow,  though  no  warmth  came  from  it  at  all ; 
but  the  sight  of  it  cheered  them  and  their  pulses 
rallied,  and  so  they  grew  warmer  in  that  bitter  hour. 

And  then  dawn  came,  and  showed  them  that  they 
were  near  the  top  of  the  pass.  They  had  come  to  the 
snow  that  gleams  there  everlastingly. 

There  was  no  material  for  a  fire  but  they  ate  cold 
meats,  and  went  wearily  on.  They  passed  through 
that  awful  assemblage  of  peaks.  By  noon  they  were 
walking  upon  level  ground. 

In  the  afternoon  Rodriguez,  tired  with  the  journey 
and  with  the  heat  of  the  sun,  decided  that  it  was 
possible  to  sleep,  and,  wrapping  his  cloak  around  him, 
he  lay  down,  doing  what  Morano  would  have  done, 
by  instinct.  Morano  was  asleep  at  once  and  Rod- 
riguez soon  after.  They  awoke  with  the  cold  at 
sunset. 

Refreshed  amazingly  they  ate  some  food  and 
started  their  walk  again  to  keep  themselves  warm  for 
the  night.  They  were  still  on  level  ground  and  set 
out  with  a  good  stride  in  their  relief  at  being  done 
with  climbing.  Later  they  slowed  down  and  wan- 
dered just  to  keep  warm.  And  some  time  in  the 
starlight  they  felt  their  path  dip,  and  knew  that  they 
were  going  downward  now  to  the  land  of  Rodriguez' 
dreams. 

When  the  peaks  glowed  again,  first  meeting  day  in 


222  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

her  earliest  dancing-grounds  of  filmy  air,  they  stood 
now  behind  the  wanderers.  Below  them  still  in 
darkness  lay  the  land  of  their  dream,  but  hitherto 
it  had  always  faded  at  dawn.  Now  hills  put  up  their 
heads  one  by  one  through  films  of  mist;  woods 
showed,  then  hedges,  and  afterwards  fields,  greyly 
at  first  and  then,  in  the  cold  hard  light  of  morning, 
becoming  more  and  more  real.  The  sight  of  the  land 
so  long  sought,  at  moments  believed  by  Morano  not 
to  exist  on  earth,  perhaps  to  have  faded  away  when 
fables  died,  swept  their  fatigue  from  the  wanderers, 
and  they  stepped  out  helped  by  the  slope  of  the 
Pyrenees  and  cheered  by  the  rising  sun.  They  came 
at  last  to  things  that  welcome  man,  little  shrubs 
flowering,  and — at  noon — to  the  edge  of  a  fir  wood. 
They  entered  the  wood  and  lit  a  merry  fire,  and  heard 
birds  singing,  at  which  they  both  rejoiced,  for  the 
great  peaks  had  said  nothing. 

They  ate  the  food  that  Morano  cooked,  and  drew 
warmth  and  cheer  from  the  fire,  and  then  they  slept 
a  little:  and,  rising  from  sleep,  they  pushed  on 
through  the  wood,  downward  and  downward  toward 
the  land  of  their  dreams,  to  see  if  it  was  true. 

They  passed  the  wood  and  came  to  curious  paths, 
and  little  hills,  and  heath,  and  rocky  places,  and 
wandering  vales  that  twisted  all  awry.  They  passed 
through  them  all  with  the  slope  of  the  mountain  be- 
hind them.  When  level  rays  from  the  sunset  mel- 
lowed the  fields  of  France  the  wanderers  were 
walking  still,  but  the  peaks  were  far  behind  them, 
austerely  gazing  on  the  remotest  things,  forgetting 


HOW  HE  TRAVELLED  FAR         223 

the  footsteps  of  man.  And  walking  on  past  soft 
fields  in  the  evening,  all  tilted  a  little  about  the  moun- 
tain's feet,  they  had  scarcely  welcomed  the  sight  of 
the  evening  star,  when  they  saw  before  them  the 
mild  glow  of  a  window  and  knew  they  were  come 
again  to  the  earth  that  is  mother  to  man.  In  their 
cold  savagery  the  inhuman  mountains  decked  them- 
selves out  like  gods  with  colours  they  took  from  the 
sunset;  then  darkened,  all  those  peaks,  in  brooding 
conclave  and  disappeared  in  the  night.  And  the 
hushed  night  heard  the  tiny  rap  of  Morano's  hands 
on  the  door  of  the  house  that  had  the  glowing 
window. 


THE    NINTH    CHRONICLE 


IS  335 


THE  NINTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW   HE   WON    A   CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

THE  woman  that  came  to  the  door  had  on  her 
face  a  look  that  pleased  Morano. 

"Are  you  soldiers?"  she  said.  And  her  scared 
look  portended  war. 

"My  master  is  a  traveller  looking  for  the  wars," 
said  Morano.     "Are  the  wars  near?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  near,"  said  the  woman;  "not  near." 

And  something  in  the  anxious  way  she  said  "not 
near"  pleased  Morano  also. 

"We  shall  find  those  wars,  master,"  he  said. 

And  then  they  both  questioned  her.  It  seemed 
the  wars  were  but  twenty  miles  away.  "But  they 
will  move  northward,"  she  said.  "Surely  they  will 
move  farther  off?" 

Before  the  next  night  was  passed  Rodriguez' 
dream  might  come  true ! 

And  then  the  man  came  to  the  door  anxious  at 
hearing  strange  voices ;  and  Morano  questioned  him 
too,  but  he  understood  never  a  word.  He  was  a 
French  farmer  that  had  married  a  Spanish  girl,  out 

227 


228  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

of  the  wonderful  land  beyond  the  mountains:  but 
whether  he  understood  her  or  not  he  never  under- 
stood Spanish.  But  both  Rodriguez  and  the  farmer's 
wife  knew  the  two  languages,  and  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  asking  for  lodging  for  the  night;  and  she 
looked  wistfully  at  him  going  to  the  wars,  for  in 
those  days  wars  were  small  and  not  every  man  went. 
The  night  went  by  with  dreams  that  were  all  on  the 
verge  of  waking,  which  passed  like  ghosts  along  the 
edge  of  night  almost  touched  by  the  light  of  day. 
It  was  Rodriguez  whom  these  dreams  visited.  The 
farmer  and  his  wife  wondered  awhile  and  then  slept; 
Morano  slept  with  all  his  wonted  lethargy;  but 
Rodriguez  with  his  long  quest  now  on  the  eve  of 
fulfilment  slept  a  tumultuous  sleep.  Sometimes  his 
dreams  raced  over  the  Pyrenees,  running  south  as 
far  as  Lowlight;  and  sometimes  they  rushed  for- 
ward and  clung  like  bats  to  the  towers  of  the  great 
castle  that  he  should  win  in  the  war.  And  always 
he  lay  so  near  the  edge  of  sleep  that  he  never  dis- 
tinguished quite  between  thought  and  dream. 

Dawn  came  and  he  put  by  all  the  dreams  but  the 
one  that  guided  him  always,  and  went  and  woke 
Morano.  They  ate  hurriedly  and  left  the  house,  and 
again  the  farmer's  wife  looked  curiously  at  Rodri- 
guez, as  though  there  were  something  strange  in  a 
man  that  went  to  wars :  for  those  days  were  not  as 
these  days.  They  followed  the  direction  that  had 
been  given  them,  and  never  had  the  two  men  walked 
so  fast.  By  the  end  of  four  hours  they  had  done 
sixteen  miles.    They  halted  then,  and  Morano  drew 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  229 

out  his  frying-pan  with  a  haughty  flourish,  and 
cooked  in  the  grand  manner,  every  movement  he 
made  was  a  triumphant  gesture ;  for  they  had  passed 
refugees !  War  was  now  obviously  close  :  they  had 
but  to  take  the  way  that  the  refugees  were  not  tak- 
ing. The  dream  was  true:  Morano  saw  himself 
walking  slowly  in  splendid  dress  along  the  tapestried 
corridors  of  his  master's  castle.  He  would  have 
slept  after  eating  and  would  have  dreamed  more  of 
this,  but  Rodriguez  commanded  him  to  put  the 
things  together:  so  what  remained  of  the  food 
disappeared  again  in  a  sack,  the  frying-pan  was 
slung  over  his  shoulders,  and  Morano  stood  ready 
again  for  the  road. 

They  passed  more  refugees :  their  haste  was  un- 
mistakable, and  told  more  than  their  lips  could  have 
told  had  they  tarried  to  speak :  the  wars  were  near 
now,  and  the  wanderers  went  leisurely. 

As  they  strolled  through  the  twilight  they  came 
over  the  brow  of  a  hill,  a  little  fold  of  the  earth  dis- 
turbed eras  ago  by  the  awful  rushing  up  of  the 
Pyrenees;  and  they  saw  the  evening  darkening  over 
the  fields  below  them  and  a  white  mist  rising  only 
just  clear  of  the  grass,  and  two  level  rows  of  tents 
greyish-white  like  the  mist,  with  a  few  more  tents 
scattered  near  them.  The  tents  had  come  up  that 
evening  with  the  mist,  for  there  were  men  still 
hammering  pegs.  They  were  lighting  fires  now  as 
evening  settled  in.  Two  hundred  paces  or  so  sep- 
arated each  row.  It  was  two  armies  facing  each 
other. 


230  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

The  gloaming  faded:  mist  and  the  tents  grew 
greyer :  camp-fires  blinked  out  of  the  dimness  and 
grew  redder  and  redder,  and  candles  began  to  be  lit 
beside  the  tents  till  all  were  glowing  pale  golden : 
Rodriguez  and  Ivlorano  stood  there  wondering 
awhile  as  they  looked  on  the  beautiful  aura  that 
surrounds  the  horrors  of  war. 

They  came  by  starlight  to  that  tented  field,  by 
twinkling  starlight  to  the  place  of  Rodriguez'  dream. 

"For  which  side  will  you  fight,  master?"  said 
Morano  in  his  ear. 

"For  the  right,"  said  Rodriguez  and  strode  on  to- 
wards the  nearest  tents,  never  doubting  that  he 
would  be  guided,  though  not  trying  to  comprehend 
how  this  could  be. 

They  met  with  an  officer  going  among  his  tents. 
"Where  do  you  go?"  he  shouted. 

"Sefior,"  Rodriguez  said,  "I  come  with  my  man- 
dolin to  sing  songs  to  you." 

And  at  this  the  officer  called  out  and  others  came 
from  their  tents;  and  Rodriguez  repeated  his  offer 
to  them  not  without  confidence,  for  he  knew  that 
he  had  a  way  with  the  mandolin.  And  they  said 
that  they  fought  a  battle  on  the  morrow  and  could 
not  listen  to  song:  they  heaped  scorn  on  singing 
for  they  said  they  must  needs  prepare  for  the  fight : 
and  all  of  them  looked  with  scorn  on  the  mandolin. 
So  Rodriguez  bowed  low  to  them  with  doffed  hat 
and  left  them;  and  Morano  bowed  also,  seeing  his 
master  bow ;  and  the  men  of  that  camp  returned  to 
their  preparations.     A  short  walk  brought  Rodri- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  231 

guez  and  his  servant  to  the  other  camp,  over  a  flat 
field  convenient  for  battle.  He  went  up  to  a  large 
tent  well  lit,  the  door  being  open  towards  him ;  and, 
having  explained  his  errand  to  a  sentry  that  stood 
outside,  he  entered  and  saw  three  persons  of  quality 
that  were  sitting  at  a  table.  To  them  he  bowed 
low  in  the  tent  door,  saying:  "Seiiors,  I  am  come 
to  sing  songs  to  you,  playing  the  while  upon  my 
mandolin." 

And  they  welcomed  him  gladly,  saying :  "We  fight 
to-morrow  and  will  gladly  cheer  our  hearts  with 
the  sound  of  song  and  strengthen  our  men  there- 
by." 

And  so  Rodriguez  sang  among  the  tents,  standing 
by  a  great  fire  to  which  they  led  him;  and  men  came 
from  the  tents  and  into  the  circle  of  light,  and  in 
the  darkness  outside  it  were  more  than  Rodriguez 
saw.  And  he  sang  to  the  circle  of  men  and  the 
vague  glimmer  of  faces.  Songs  of  their  homes  he 
sang  them,  not  in  their  language,  but  songs  that  were 
made  by  old  poets  about  the  homes  of  their  infancy, 
in  valleys  under  far  mountains  remote  from  the 
Pyrenees.  And  in  the  song  the  yearnings  of  dead 
poets  lived  again,  all  streaming  homeward  like 
swallows  when  the  last  of  the  storms  is  gone :  and 
those  yearnings  echoed  in  the  hearts  that  beat  in  the 
night  around  the  campfire,  and  they  saw  their  own 
homes.  And  then  he  began  to  touch  his  mandolin; 
and  he  played  them  the  tunes  that  draw  men  from 
their  homes  and  that  march  them  away  to  war.  The 
tunes  flowed  up   from   the  firelight :  the  mandolin 


232  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

knew.  And  the  men  heard  the  mandoHn  saying 
what  they  would  say. 

In  the  late  night  he  ended,  and  a  hush  came  down 
on  the  camp  while  the  music  floated  away,  going  up 
from  the  dark  ring  of  men  and  the  fire-lit  faces, 
touching  perhaps  the  knees  of  the  Pyrenees  and 
drifting  thence  wherever  echoes  go.  And  the  sparks 
of  the  camp-fire  went  straight  upwards  as  they  had 
done  for  hours,  and  the  men  that  sat  around  it  saw 
them  go :  for  long  they  had  not  seen  the  sparks 
stream  upwards,  for  their  thoughts  were  far  away 
with  the  mandolin.  And  all  at  once  they  cheered. 
And  Rodriguez  bowed  to  the  one  whose  tent  he  had 
entered,  and  sought  permission  to  fight  for  them  in 
the  morning. 

With  good  grace  this  was  accorded  him,  and  while 
he  bowed  and  well  expressed  his  thanks  he  felt 
Morano  touching  his  elbow.  And  as  soon  as  he 
had  gone  aside  with  Morano  that  fat  man's  words 
bubbled  over  and  were  said. 

"Master,  fight  not  for  these  men,"  he  exclaimed, 
"for  they  listen  to  song  till  midnight  while  the 
others  prepare  for  battle.  The  others  will  win  the 
fight,  master,  and  where  will  your  castle  be?" 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "there  seems  to  be 
truth  in  that.  Yet  must  we  fight  for  the  right.  For 
how  would  it  be  if  those  that  have  denied  song 
should  win  and  thrive  ?  The  arm  of  every  good  man 
must  be  against  them.  They  have  denied  song, 
Morano !  We  must  fight  against  them,  you  and  I, 
while  we  can  lay  sword  to  head." 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  233 

"Yes,  indeed,  master,"  said  Morano.  "But  how 
shall  you  come  by  your  castle?" 

"As  for  that,"  said  Rodriguez,  "it  must  some  day 
be  won,  yet  not  by  denying  song.  These  have  given 
a  welcome  to  song,  and  the  others  have  driven  it 
forth.  And  what  would  life  be  if  those  that  deny 
song  are  to  be  permitted  to  thrive  unmolested  by 
all  good  men?" 

"I  know  not,  master,"  said  Morano,  "but  I  would 
have  that  castle." 

"Enough,"  said  Rodriguez.  "We  must  fight  for 
the  right." 

And  so  Rodriguez  remained  true  to  those  that  had 
heard  him  sing.  And  they  gave  him  a  casque  and 
breast-plate,  proof,  they  said,  against  any  sword,  and 
offered  a  sword  that  they  said  would  surely  cleave 
any  breast-plate.  For  they  fought  not  in  battle  with 
the  nimble  rapier.  But  Rodriguez  did  not  forsake 
that  famous  exultant  sword  whose  deeds  he  knew 
from  many  an  ancient  song;  which  he  had  brought 
so  far  to  give  it  its  old  rich  drink  of  blood.  He  be- 
lieved it  the  bright  key  of  the  castle  he  was  to  win. 

And  they  gave  Rodriguez  a  good  bed  on  the 
ground  in  the  tent  of  the  three  leaders,  the  tent  to 
which  he  first  came;  for  they  honoured  him  for  the 
gift  of  song  that  he  had,  and  because  he  was  a 
stranger,  and  because  he  had  asked  permission  to 
fight  for  them  in  their  battle.  And  Rodriguez  took 
one  look  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  at  the  rose  he  had 
carried  from  Lowlight,  then  slept  a  sleep  through 
whose  dreams  loomed  up  the  towers  of  castles. 


234  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Dawn  came  and  he  slept  on  still ;  but  by  seven  all 
the  camp  was  loudly  astir,  for  they  had  promised  the 
enemy  to  begin  the  battle  at  eight.  Rodriguez  break- 
fasted lightly ;  for,  now  that  the  day  of  his  dreams 
was  come  at  last  and  all  his  hopes  depended  on  the 
day,  an  anxiety  for  many  things  oppressed  him.  It 
was  as  though  his  castle,  rosy  and  fair  in  dreams, 
chilled  with  its  huge  cold  rocks  all  the  air  near  it: 
it  was  as  though  Rodriguez  touched  it  at  last  with 
his  hands  and  felt  a  dankness  of  which  he  had  never 
dreamed. 

Then  it  came  to  the  hour  of  eight  and  his  anxieties 
passed. 

The  army  was  now  drawn  up  before  its  tents  in 
line,  but  the  enemy  was  not  yet  ready  and  so  they 
had  to  wait. 

When  the  signal  at  length  was  given  and  the 
cannoniers  fired  their  pieces,  and  the  musketoons 
were  shot  off,  many  men  fell.  Now  Rodriguez,  with 
Morano,  was  placed  on  the  right,  and  either  through 
a  slight  difference  in  numbers  or  because  of  an 
unevenness  in  the  array  of  battle  they  a  little  over- 
lapped the  enemy's  left.  When  a  few  men  fell 
wounded  there  by  the  discharge  of  the  musketoons 
this  overlapping  was  even  more  pronounced. 

Now  the  leaders  of  that  fair  army  scorned  all 
unknightly  devices,  and  would  never  have  descended 
to  any  vile  ruse  de  querre.  The  reproach  can  there- 
fore never  be  made  against  them  that  they  ever 
intended  to  outflank  their  enemy.  Yet,  when  both 
armies  advanced  after  the  discharge  of  the  muske- 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  235 

toons  and  the  merry  noise  of  the  cannon,  this 
occurred  as  the  result  of  chance,  which  no  leader 
can  be  held  accountable  for ;  so  that  those  that  speak 
of  treachery  in  this  battle,  and  deliberate  outflank- 
ing, lie. 

Now  Rodriguez  as  he  advanced  with  his  sword, 
when  the  musketoons  were  empty,  had  already 
chosen  his  adversary.  For  he  had  carefully  watched 
those  opposite  to  him,  before  any  smoke  should  ob- 
scure them,  and  had  selected  the  one  who  from  the 
splendour  of  his  dress  might  be  expected  to  possess 
the  finest  castle.  Certainly  this  adversary  outshone 
those  amongst  whom  he  stood,  and  gave  fair  promise 
of  owning  goodly  possessions,  for  he  wore  a  fine 
green  cloak  over  a  dress  of  lilac,  and  his  helm  and 
cuirass  had  a  look  of  crafty  workmanship.  To- 
wards him  Rodriguez  marched. 

Then  began  fighting  foot  to  foot,  and  there  was 
a  pretty  laying  on  of  swords.  And  had  there  been  a 
poet  there  that  day  then  the  story  of  their  fight  had 
come  down  to  you,  my  reader,  all  that  way  from  the 
Pyrenees,  down  all  those  hundreds  of  years,  and 
this  tale  of  mine  had  been  useless,  the  lame  repeti- 
tion in  prose  of  songs  that  your  nurses  had  sung  to 
you.  But  they  fought  unseen  by  those  that  see  for 
the  Muses. 

Rodriguez  advanced  upon  his  chosen  adversary 
and,  having  briefly  bowed,  they  engaged  at  once. 
And  Rodriguez  belaboured  his  helm  till  dints  ap- 
peared, and  beat  it  with  swift  strokes  yet  till  the 
dints  were  cracks,  and  beat  the  cracks  till  hair  began 


236  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

to  appear :  and  all  the  while  his  adversary's  strokes 
grew  weaker  and  wilder,  until  he  tottered  to  earth 
and  Rodriguez  had  won.  Swift  then  as  cats,  while 
Morano  kept  off  others,  Rodriguez  leaped  to  his 
throat,  and,  holding  up  the  stiletto  that  he  had  long 
ago  taken  as  his  legacy  from  the  host  of  the  Dragon 
and  Knight,  he  demanded  the  fallen  man's  castle  as 
ransom  for  his  life. 

"My  castle,  senor?"  said  his  prisoner  weakly. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez  impatiently. 

"Yes,  senor,"  said  his  adversary  and  closed  his 
eyes  for  awhile. 

"Does  he  surrender  his  castle,  master?"  asked 
Morano. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Rodriguez.  They  looked  at 
each  other  :  all  at  last  was  well. 

The  battle  was  rolling  away  from  them  and  was 
now  well  within  the  enemy's  tents. 

History  says  of  that  day  that  the  good  men  won. 
And,  sitting,  a  Muse  upon  her  mythical  mountain, 
her  decision  must  needs  be  one  from  which  we  may 
not  appeal :  and  yet  I  wonder  if  she  is  ever  bribed. 
Certainly  the  shrewd  sense  of  Morano  erred  for 
once ;  for  those  for  whom  he  had  predicted  victory, 
because  they  prepared  so  ostentatiously  upon  the 
field,  were  defeated;  while  the  others,  having  made 
their  preparations  long  before,  were  able  to  cheer 
themselves  with  song  before  the  battle  and  to  win  it 
when  it  came. 

And  so  Rodriguez  was  left  undisturbed  in  posses- 
sion of  his  prisoner  and  with  the  promise  of  his 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  237 

castle  as  a  ransom.  The  battle  was  swiftly  over,  as 
must  needs  be  where  little  armies  meet  so  close.  The 
enemy's  camp  was  occupied,  his  army  routed,  and 
within  an  hour  of  beginning  the  battle  the  last  of 
the  fighting  ceased. 

The  army  returned  to  its  tents  to  rejoice  and  to 
make  a  banquet,  bringing  with  them  captives  and 
horses  and  other  spoils  of  war.  And  Rodriguez 
had  honour  among  them  because  he  had  fought  on 
the  right  and  so  was  one  of  those  that  had  broken 
the  enemy's  left,  from  which  direction  victory  had 
come.  And  they  would  have  feasted  him  and  done 
him  honour,  both  for  his  work  with  the  sword  and 
for  his  songs  to  the  mandolin ;  and  they  would  have 
marched  away  soon  to  their  own  country  and  would 
have  taken  him  with  them  and  advanced  him  to 
honour  there.  But  Rodriguez  would  not  stay  with 
them  for  he  had  his  castle  at  last,  and  must  needs 
march  off  at  once  with  his  captive  and  Morano  to 
see  the  fulfilment  of  his  dream.  And  therefore  he 
thanked  the  leaders  of  that  host  with  many  a  cour- 
tesy and  many  a  well-bent  bow,  and  explained  to 
them  how  it  was  about  his  castle,  and  felicitated  them 
on  the  victory  of  their  good  cause,  and  so  wished 
them  farewell.  And  they  said  farewell  sorrowfully: 
but  when  they  saw  he  would  go,  they  gave  him 
horses  for  himself  and  Morano,  and  another  for  his 
captive;  and  they  heaped  them  with  sacks  of  proven- 
der and  blankets  and  all  things  that  could  give  him 
comfort  upon  a  journey:  all  this  they  brought  him 
out  of  their  spoils  of  war,  and  they  would  give  him 


238  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

no  less  that  the  most  that  the  horses  could  carry. 
And  then  Rodriguez  turned  to  his  captive  again,  who 
now  stood  on  his  feet. 

"Seiior,"  he  said,  "pray  tell  us  all  of  your  castle 
wherewith  you  ransom  your  life." 

"Sefior,"  he  answered,  "I  have  a  castle  in  Spain." 

"Master,"  broke  in  Morano,  his  eyes  lighting  up 
with  delight,  "there  are  no  castles  like  the  Spanish 
ones." 

They  got  to  horse  then,  all  three;  the  captive  on 
a  horse  of  far  poorer  build  than  the  other  two  and 
well-laden  with  sacks,  for  Rodriguez  took  no  chance 
of  his  castle  cantering,  as  it  were,  away  from  him  on 
four  hooves  through  the  dust. 

And  when  they  heard  that  his  journey  was  by 
way  of  the  Pyrenees  four  knights  of  that  army 
swore  they  would  ride  with  him  as  far  as  the  frontier 
of  Spain,  to  bear  him  company  and  bring  him  fuel 
in  the  lonely  cold  of  the  mountains.  They  all  set  oflf 
and  the  merry  army  cheered.  He  left  them  making 
ready  for  their  banquet,  and  never  knew  the  cause 
for  which  he  had  fought. 

They  came  by  evening  again  to  the  house  to  which 
Rodriguez  had  come  two  nights  before,  when  he  had 
slept  there  with  his  castle  yet  to  win.  They  all 
halted  before  it,  and  the  man  and  the  woman  came 
to  the  door  terrified.     "The  wars !"  they  said. 

"The  wars,"  said  one  of  the  riders,  "are  over,  and 
the  just  cause  has  won." 

"The  Saints  be  praised!"  said  the  woman.  "But 
will  there  be  no  more  fighting?" 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  239 

"Never  again,"  said  the  horseman,  "for  men  are 
sick  of  gunpowder." 

"The  Saints  be  thanked,"  she  said. 

"Say  not  that,"  said  the  horseman,  "for  Satan 
invented  gunpowder." 

And  she  was  silent ;  but,  had  none  been  there,  she 
had  secretly  thanked  Satan. 

They  demanded  the  food  and  shelter  that  armed 
men  have  the  right  to  demand. 

In  the  morning  they  were  gone.  They  became  a 
memory,  which  lingered  like  a  vision,  made  partly 
of  sunset  and  partly  of  the  splendour  of  their  cloaks, 
and  so  went  down  the  years  that  those  two  folk  had, 
a  thing  of  romance,  magnificence  and  fear.  And 
now  the  slope  of  the  mountain  began  to  lift  against 
them,  and  they  rode  slowly  towards  those  unearthly 
peaks  that  had  deserted  the  level  fields  before  ever 
man  came  to  them,  and  that  sat  there  now  familiar 
with  stars  and  dawn  with  the  air  of  never  having 
known  of  man.  And  as  they  rode  they  talked.  And 
Rodriguez  talked  with  the  four  knights  that  rode 
with  him,  and  they  told  tales  of  war  and  told  of  the 
ways  of  fighting  of  many  men :  and  Morano  rode 
behind  them  beside  the  captive  and  questioned  him 
all  the  morning  about  his  castle  in  Spain.  And  at 
first  the  captive  answered  his  questions  slowly,  as 
if  he  were  weary,  or  as  though  he  were  long  from 
home  and  remembered  its  features  dimly ;  but  mem- 
ory soon  returned  and  he  answered  clearly,  telling 
of  such  a  castle  as  Morano  had  not  dreamed;  and 
the  eyes  of   the   fat   man  bulged  as  he   rode   be- 


240  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

side  him,  growing  rounder  and  rounder  as  they 
rode. 

They  came  by  sunset  to  that  wood  of  firs  in  which 
Rodriguez  had  rested.  In  the  midst  of  the  wood 
they  hahed  and  tethered  their  horses  to  trees;  they 
tied  blankets  to  branches  and  made  an  encampment ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  they  made  a  fire,  at  first,  with 
pine-needles  and  the  dead  lower  twigs  and  then  with 
great  logs.  And  there  they  feasted  together,  all 
seven,  around  the  fire.  And  when  the  feast  was 
over  and  the  great  logs  burning  well,  and  red  sparks 
went  up  slowly  towards  the  silver  stars,  Morano 
turned  to  the  prisoner  seated  beside  him  and  "Tell 
the  senors,"  he  said,  "of  my  master's  castle." 

And  in  the  silence,  that  was  rather  lulled  than 
broken  by  the  whispering  wind  from  the  snow  that 
sighed  through  the  wood,  the  captive  slowly  lifted 
up  his  head  and  spoke  in  his  queer  accent. 

"Senors,  in  Aragon,  across  the  Ebro,  are  many 
goodly  towers."  And  as  he  spoke  they  all  leaned 
forward  to  listen,  dark  faces  bright  with  firelight. 
"On  the  Ebro's  southern  bank  stands,"  he  went  on, 
"my  home." 

He  told  of  strange  rocks  rising  from  the  Ebro;  of 
buttresses  built  among  them  in  unremembered  times ; 
of  the  great  towers  lifting  up  in  multitudes  from  the 
buttresses ;  and  of  the  mighty  wall,  windowless  until 
it  came  to  incredible  heights,  where  the  windows 
shone  all  safe  from  any  ladder  of  war. 

At  first  they  felt  in  his  story  his  pride  in  his  lost 
home,  and  wondered,  when  he  told  of  the  height 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  241 

of  his  towers,  how  much  he  added  in  pride.  And 
then  the  force  of  that  story  gripped  them  all  and 
they  doubted  never  a  battlement,  but  each  man's 
fancy  saw  between  firelight  and  starlight  every 
tower  clear  in  the  air.  And  at  great  height  upon 
those  marvellous  towers  the  turrets  of  arches  were; 
queer  carvings  grinned  down  from  above  inaccessi- 
ble windows ;  and  the  towers  gathered  in  light  from 
the  lonely  air  where  nothing  stood  but  they,  and 
flashed  it  far  over  Aragon ;  and  the  Ebro  floated  by 
them  always  new,  always  amazed  by  their  beauty. 

He  spoke  to  the  six  listeners  on  the  lonely  moun- 
tain, slowly,  remembering  mournfully;  and  never  a 
story  that  Romance  has  known  and  told  of  castles 
in  Spain  has  held  men  more  than  he  held  his 
listeners,  while  the  sparks  flew  up  toward  the  peaks 
of  the  Pyrenees  and  did  not  reach  to  them  but  failed 
in  the  night,  giving  place  to  the  white  stars. 

And  when  he  faltered  through  sorrow,  or  memory 
weakening,  Morano  always,  watching  with  glittering 
eyes,  would  touch  his  arm,  sitting  beside  him,  and 
ask  some  question,  and  the  captive  would  answer  the 
question  and  so  talk  sadly  on. 

He  told  of  the  upper  terraces,  where  heliotrope 
and  aloe  and  oleander  took  sunlight  far  above  their 
native  earth :  and  though  but  rare  winds  carried  the 
butterflies  there,  such  as  came  to  those  fragrant 
terraces  lingered  for  ever. 

And  after  a  while  he  spoke  on  carelessly,  and 
Morano's  questions  ended,  and  none  of  the  men  in 
the  firelight  said  a  word;  but  he  spoke  on  uninter- 

16 


242  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

rupted,  holding  them  as  by  a  spell,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  far  away  on  black  crags  of  the  Pyrenees,  tell- 
ing of  his  great  towers  :  almost  it  might  have  seemed 
he  was  speaking  of  mountains.  And  when  the  fire 
was  only  a  deep  red  glow  and  white  ash  showed  all 
round  it,  and  he  ceased  speaking,  having  told  of  a 
castle  marvellous  even  amongst  the  towers  of  Spain : 
all  sitting  round  the  embers  felt  sad  with  his  sadness, 
for  his  sad  voice  drifted  into  their  very  spirits  as 
white  mists  enter  houses,  and  all  were  glad  when 
Rodriguez  said  to  him  that  one  of  his  ten  tall  towers 
the  captive  should  keep  and  should  live  in  it  for  ever. 
And  the  sad  man  thanked  him  sadly  and  showed 
no  joy. 

When  the  tale  of  the  castle  and  those  great  towers 
was  done,  the  wind  that  blew  from  the  snow  touched 
all  the  hearers ;  they  had  seemed  to  be  away  by  the 
bank  of  the  Ebro  in  the  heat  and  light  of  Spain,  and 
now  the  vast  night  stripped  them  and  the  peaks 
seemed  to  close  round  on  them.  They  wrapped 
themselves  in  blankets  and  lay  down  in  their  shelters. 
For  a  while  they  heard  the  wind  waving  branches 
and  the  thump  of  a  horse's  hoof  restless  at  night; 
then  they  all  slept  except  one  that  guarded  the  cap- 
tive, and  the  captive  himself  who  long  lay  think- 
ing and  thinking. 

Dawn  stole  through  the  wood  and  waked  none  of 
the  sleepers ;  the  birds  all  shouted  at  them,  still  they 
slept  on;  and  then  the  captive's  guard  wakened 
Morano  and  he  stirred  up  the  sparks  of  the  fire  and 
cooked,  and  they  breakfasted  late.     And  soon  they 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  243 

left  the  wood  and  faced  the  bleak  slope,  all  of  them 
going  on  foot  and  leading  their  horses. 

And  the  track  crawled  on  till  it  came  to  the  scorn 
of  the  peaks,  winding  over  a  shoulder  of  the 
Pyrenees,  where  the  peaks  gaze  cold  and  con- 
temptuous away  from  the  things  of  man. 

In  the  presence  of  those  that  bore  them  company 
Rodriguez  and  Morano  felt  none  of  the  deadly 
majesty  of  those  peaks  that  regard  so  awfully  over 
the  solitudes.  They  passed  through  them  telling 
cheerfully  of  wars  the  four  knights  had  known;  and 
descended  and  came  by  sunset  to  the  lower  edge  of 
the  snow.  They  pushed  on  a  little  farther  and  then 
camped ;  and  with  branches  from  the  last  camp  that 
they  had  heaped  on  their  horses  they  made  another 
great  fire  and,  huddling  round  it  in  the  blankets  that 
they  had  brought,  found  warmth  even  there  so  far 
from  the  hearths  of  men. 

And  dawn  and  the  cold  woke  them  all  on  that 
treeless  slope  by  barely  warm  embers.  Morano 
cooked  again  and  they  ate  in  silence.  And  then  the 
four  knights  rose  sadly  and  one  bowed  and  told 
Rodriguez  how  they  must  now  go  back  to  their 
own  country.  And  grief  seized  on  Rodriguez  at  his 
words,  seeing  that  he  was  to  lose  four  old  friends  at 
once  and  perhaps  for  ever,  for  when  men  have 
fought  under  the  same  banner  in  war  they  become 
old  friends  on  that  morning. 

"Senors,"  said  Rodriguez,  "we  may  never  meet 
again !" 

And  the  other  looked  back  to  the  peaks  beyond 


244  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

which  the  far  lands  lay,  and  made  a  gesture  with  his 

hands. 

"Senor,  at  least,"  said  Rodriguez,  "let  us  camp 
once  more  together." 

And  even  Morano  babbled  a  supplication. 

"Methinks,  sefior,"  he  answered,  "we  are  already 
across  the  frontier,  and  when  we  men  of  the  sword 
pross  frontiers  misunderstandings  arise,  so  that  it  is 
our  custom  never  to  pass  across  them  save  when 
we  push  the  frontier  with  us,  adding  the  lands  over 
which  we  march  to  those  of  our  liege  lord." 

"Sefiors,"  said  Rodriguez,  "the  whole  mountain 
is  the  frontier.  Come  with  us  one  day  further." 
But  they  would  not  stay. 

All  the  good  things  that  could  be  carried  they 
loaded  on  to  the  three  horses  whose  heads  were 
turned  towards  Spain;  then  turned,  all  four,  and 
said  farewell  to  the  three.  And  long  looked  each 
in  the  face  of  Rodriguez  as  he  took  his  hand  in  fare- 
well, for  they  had  fought  under  the  same  banner 
and,  as  wayfaring  was  in  those  days,  it  was  not 
likely  that  they  would  ever  meet  again.  They  turned 
and  went  with  their  horses  back  towards  the  land 
they  had  fought  for. 

Rodriguez  and  his  captive  and  Morano  went 
sadly  down  the  mountain.  They  came  to  the  fir 
woods,  and  rested,  and  Morano  cooked  their  dinner. 
And  after  a  while  they  were  able  to  ride  their 
horses. 

They  came  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  rode 
on  past  the  Inn  of  the  World's  End.    They  camped 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  245 

in  the  open ;  and  all  night  long  Rodriguez  or  Morano 
guarded  the  captive. 

For  two  days  and  part  of  the  third  they  followed 
their  old  course,  catching  sight  again  and  again  of 
the  river  Segre;  and  then  they  turned  further  west- 
ward to  come  to  Aragon  further  up  the  Ebro.  All 
the  way  they  avoided  houses  and  camped  in  the  open, 
for  they  kept  their  captive  to  themselves :  and  they 
slept  warm  with  their  ample  store  of  blankets.  And 
all  the  while  the  captive  seemed  morose  or  ill  at  ease, 
speaking  seldom  and,  when  he  did,  in  nervous  jerks. 

Morano,  as  they  rode,  or  by  the  camp  fire  at  even- 
ing, still  questioned  him  now  and  then  about  his 
castle ;  and  sometimes  he  almost  seemed  to  contradict 
himself,  but  in  so  vast  a  castle  may  have  been  many 
styles  of  architecture,  and  it  was  difficult  to  trace  a 
contradiction  among  all  those  towers  and  turrets. 
His  name  was  Don  Alvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle 
on-Ebro. 

One  night  while  all  three  sat  and  gazed  at  the 
camp-fire  as  men  will,  when  the  chilly  stars  are  still 
and  the  merry  flames  are  leaping,  Rodriguez,  seek- 
ing to  cheer  his  captive's  mood,  told  him  some  of 
his  strange  adventures.  The  captive  listened  with 
his  sombre  air.  But  when  Rodriguez  told  how  they 
woke  on  the  mountain  after  their  journey  to  the 
sun;  and  the  sun  was  shining  on  their  faces  in  the 
open,  but  the  magician  and  his  whole  house  were 
gone;  then  there  came  another  look  into  Alvidar's 
eyes.  And  Rodriguez  ended  his  tale  and  silence  fell, 
broken  only  by  Morano  saying  across  the  fire,  "It 


246  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

is  true,"  and  the  captive's  thoughtful  eyes  gazed 
into  the  darkness.    And  then  he  also  spoke. 

"Senor,"  he  said,  "near  to  my  rose-pink  castle 
which  looks  into  the  Ebro  dwells  a  magician  also." 

"Is  it  so?"  said  Rodriguez, 

"Indeed  so,  sefior,"  said  Don  Alvidar.  "He  is  my 
enemy  but  dwells  in  awe  of  me,  and  so  durst  never 
molest  me  except  by  minor  wonders." 

"How  know  you  that  he  is  a  magician?"  said 
Rodriguez. 

"By  those  wonders,"  answered  his  captive.  "He 
afflicts  small  dogs  and  my  poultry.  And  he  wears  a 
thin,  high  hat :  his  beard  is  also  extraordinary." 

"Long?"   said  Morano. 

"Green,"  answered  Don  Alvidar. 

"Is  he  very  near  the  castle?"  said  Rodriguez  and 
Morano  together. 

"Too  near,"  said  Don  Alvidar. 

"Is  his  house  wonderful  ?"  Rodriguez  asked. 

"It  is  a  common  house,"  was  the  answer,  "A 
mean,  long  house  of  one  story.  The  walls  are  white 
and  it  is  well  thatched.  The  windows  are  painted 
green ;  there  are  two  doors  in  it  and  by  one  of  them 
grows  a  rose  tree." 

"A  rose  tree?"  exclaimed  Rodriguez. 

"It  seemed  a  rose  tree,"  said  Don  Alvidar. 

"A  captive  lady  chained  to  the  wall  perhaps, 
changed  by  magic,"  suggested  Morano. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Don  Alvidar. 

"A  strange  house  for  a  magician,"  said  Rodriguez, 
for  it  sounded  like  any  small  farmhouse  in  Spain. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  247 

"He  much  affects  mortal  ways,"  replied  Don 
Alvidar. 

Little  more  was  then  said,  the  fire  being  low :  and 
Rodriguez  lay  down  to  sleep  while  Morano  guarded 
the  captive. 

And  the  day  after  that  they  came  to  Aragon,  and 
in  one  day  more  they  were  across  the  Ebro ;  and  then 
they  rode  west  for  a  day  along  its  southern  bank 
looking  all  the  while  as  they  rode  for  Rodriguez' 
castle.  And  more  and  more  silent  and  aloof,  as  they 
rode,  grew  Don  Alvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle-on- 
Ebro. 

And  just  before  sunset  a  cry  broke  from  the 
captive.  "He  has  taken  it!"  he  said.  And  he 
pointed  to  just  such  a  house  as  he  had  described,  a 
jolly  Spanish  farmhouse  with  white  walls  and  thatch 
and  green  shutters,  and  a  rose  tree  by  one  of  the 
doors  just  as  he  had  told. 

"The  magician's  house.  But  the  castle  is  gone," 
he  said. 

Rodriguez  looked  at  his  face  and  saw  real  alarm 
in  it.  He  said  nothing  but  rode  on  in  haste,  a  dim 
hope  in  his  mind  that  explanations  at  the  white 
cottage  might  do  something  for  his  lost  castle- 

And  when  the  hooves  were  heard  a  woman  came 
out  of  the  cottage  door  by  the  rose  tree  leading  a 
small  child  by  the  hand.  And  the  captive  called  to 
the  woman,  "Maria,  we  are  lost.  And  I  gave  my 
great  castle  with  rose-pink  towers  that  stood  just 
here  as  ransom  to  this  senor  for  my  life.  But  now, 
alas,  I  see  that  that  magician  who  dwe?t  in  the  house 


248  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

where  you  are  now  has  taken  it  whither  we  know 
not." 

"Yes,  Pedro,"  said  the  woman,  "he  took  it  yes- 
terday." And  she  turned  blue  eyes  upon  Rodriguez. 

And  then  Morano  would  be  silent  no  longer.  He 
had  thought  vaguely  for  some  days  and  intensely  for 
the  last  few  hundreds  yards,  and  now  he  blurted  out 
the  thoughts  that  boiled  in  him. 

"Master,"  he  shouted,  "he  has  sold  his  cattle  and 
bought  this  raiment  of  his,  and  that  helmet  that 
you  opened  up  for  him,  and  never  had  any  castle 
on  the  Ebro  with  any  towers  to  it,  and  never  knew 
any  magician,  but  lived  in  this  house  himself,  and 
now  your  castle  is  gone,  master,  and  as  for  his 
life  .  .  ." 

"Be  silent  a  moment,  Morano,"  said  Rodriguez, 
and  he  turned  to  the  woman  whose  eyes  were  on 
him  still. 

"Was  there  a  castle  in  this  place?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  serior.  I  swear  it,"  she  said.  "And  my 
husband,  though  a  poor  man,  always  spoke  the 
truth." 

"She  lies,"  said  Morano,  and  Rodriguez  silenced 
him  with  a  gesture. 

"I  will  get  neighbours  who  will  swear  it  too,"  she 
said. 

"A  lousy  neighbourhood,"  said  Morano. 

Again  Rodriguez  silenced  him.  And  then  the 
child  spoke  in  a  frightened  voice,  holding  up  a  small 
cross  that  it  had  been  taught  to  revere.  "I  swear  it 
too,"  it  said. 


A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN  249 

Rodriguez  heaved  a  sigh  and  turned  away. 
"Jvlaster,"  Morano  cried  in  pained  astonishment, 
"you  will  not  believe  their  swearings." 

"The  child  swore  by  the  cross,"  he  answered. 

"But,  master!"  Morano  exclaimed. 

But  Rodriguez  would  say  no  more.  And  they 
rode  away  aimless  in  silence. 

Galloping  hooves  were  heard  and  Pedro  was  there. 
He  had  come  to  give  up  his  horse.  He  gave  its  reins 
to  the  scowling  Morano  but  Rodriguez  said  never  a 
word.  Then  he  ran  round  and  kissed  Rodriguez' 
hand,  who  still  was  silent,  for  his  hopes  were  lost 
with  the  castle ;  but  he  nodded  his  head  and  so  parted 
for  ever  from  the  man  whom  his  wife  called  Pedro, 
who  called  himself  Don  Alvidar-of-the-Rose-pink- 
Castle-on-Ebro. 


THE   TENTH    CHRONICLE 


251 


THE  TENTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE  CAME   BACK   TO   LOWLIGHT 

"  IV /I  ASTER,"  Morano  said.  But  Rodriguez  rode 
^ '*      ahead  and  would  not  speak. 

They  were  riding  vaguely  southward.  They  had 
ample  provisions  on  the  horse  that  Morano  led,  as 
well  as  blankets,  which  gave  them  comfort  at  night. 
That  night  they  both  got  the  sleep  they  needed,  now 
that  there  was  no  captive  to  guard.  All  the  next 
day  they  rode  slowly  in  the  April  weather  by  roads 
that  wandered  among  tended  fields;  but  a  little 
way  off  from  the  fields  there  shone  low  hills  in  the 
sunlight,  so  wild,  so  free  of  man,  that  Rodriguez 
remembering  them  in  later  years,  wondered  if  their 
wild  shrubs  just  hid  the  frontiers  of  fairyland. 

For  two  days  they  rode  by  the  edge  of  unguessable 
regions.  I  lad  Pan  piped  there  no  one  had  marvelled, 
nor  though  fauns  had  scurried  past  sheltering  clumps 
of  azaleas.  In  the  twilight  no  tiny  queens  had  court 
within  rings  of  toadstools :  yet  almost,  almost  they 
appeared. 

And  on  the  third  day  all  at  once  they  came  to  a 
253 


254  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

road  they  knew.  It  was  the  road  by  which  they  had 
ridden  when  Rodriguez  still  had  his  dream,  the  way 
from  Shadow  Valley  to  the  Ebro.  And  so  they 
turned  into  the  road  they  knew,  as  wanderers  always 
will;  and,  still  without  aim  or  plan,  they  faced  to- 
wards Shadow  Valley.  And  in  the  evening  of  the 
day  that  followed  that,  as  they  looked  about  for  a 
camping-ground,  there  came  in  sight  the  village  on 
the  hill  which  Rodriguez  knew  to  be  fifty  miles  from 
the  forest :  it  was  the  village  in  which  they  had  rested 
the  first  night  after  leaving  Shadow  Valley.  They 
did  not  camp  but  went  on  to  the  village  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  inn.  Habit  guides  us  all  at  times, 
even  kings  are  the  slaves  of  it  (though  in  their  pres- 
ence it  takes  the  prouder  name  of  precedent)  ;  and 
here  were  two  wanderers  without  any  plans  at  all; 
they  were  therefore  defenceless  in  the  grip  of  habit 
and,  seeing  an  inn  they  knew,  they  loitered  up  to  it. 
Mine  host  came  again  to  the  door.  He  cheerfully 
asked  Rodriguez  how  he  had  fared  on  his  journey, 
but  Rodriguez  would  say  nothing.  He  asked  for 
lodging  for  himself  and  Morano  and  stabling  for 
the  horses:  he  ate  and  slept  and  paid  his  due,  and 
in  the  morning  was  gone. 

Whatever  impulses  guided  Rodriguez  as  he  rode 
and  Morano  followed,  he  knew  not  what  they  were 
or  even  that  there  could  be  any.  He  followed  the 
road  without  hope  and  only  travelled  to  change  his 
camping-grounds.  And  that  night  he  was  half-way 
between  the  village  and  Shadow  Valley. 

Morano  never  spoke,  for  he  saw  that  his  master's 


LOWLIGHT  255 

disappointment  was  still  raw ;  but  it  pleased  him  to 
notice,  as  he  had  done  all  day,  that  they  were  heading 
for  the  great  forest.  He  cooked  their  evening  meal 
in  their  camp  by  the  wayside  and  they  both  ate  it  in 
silence.  For  awhile  Rodriguez  sat  and  gazed  at  the 
might-have-beens  in  the  camp-fire:  and  when  these 
began  to  be  hidden  by  white  ash  he  went  to  his 
blankets  and  slept.  And  Morano  went  quietly  about 
the  little  camp,  doing  all  that  needed  to  be  done, 
with  never  a  word.  When  the  horses  were  seen  to 
and  fed,  when  the  knives  were  cleaned,  when  every- 
thing was  ready  for  the  start  next  morning,  Morano 
went  to  his  blankets  and  slept  too.  And  in  the  morn- 
ing again  they  wandered  on. 

That  evening  they  saw  the  low  gold  rays  of  the 
sun  enchanting  the  tops  of  a  forest.  It  almost  sur- 
prised Rodriguez,  travelling  without  an  aim,  to  re- 
cognise Shadow  Valley.  They  quickened  their  slow 
pace  and,  before  twilight  faded,  they  were  under  the 
great  oaks;  but  the  last  of  the  twilight  could  not 
pierce  the  dimness  of  Shadow  Valley,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  night  had  entered  the  forest  with  them. 

They  chose  a  camping-ground  as  well  as  they 
could  in  the  darkness  and  Morano  tied  the  horses  to 
trees  a  little  way  off  from  the  camp.  Then  he 
returned  to  Rodriguez  and  tied  a  blanket  to  the  wind- 
ward side  of  two  trees  to  make  a  kind  of  bedroom 
for  his  master,  for  they  had  all  the  blankets  they 
needed.  And  when  this  was  done  he  set  the  emblem 
and  banner  of  camps,  anywhere  all  over  the  world 
in  any  time,  for  he  gathered  sticks  and  branches  and 


256  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

lit  a  camp-fire.  The  first  red  flames  went  up  and 
waved  and  proclaimed  a  camp  :  the  light  made  a  little 
circle,  shadows  ran  away  to  the  forest,  and  the  circle 
of  light  on  the  ground  and  on  the  trees  that  stood 
round  it  became  for  that  one  night  home. 

They  heard  the  horses  stamp  as  they  always  did 
in  the  early  part  of  the  night;  and  then  Morano 
went  to  give  them  their  fodder.  Rodriguez  sat  and 
gazed  into  the  fire,  his  mind  as  full  of  thoughts  as 
the  fire  was  full  of  pictures:  one  by  one  the  pic- 
tures in  the  fire  fell  in;  and  all  his  thoughts  led  no- 
where. 

He  heard  Morano  running  back  the  thirty  or  forty 
yards  he  had  gone  from  the  camp-fire  "Master," 
Morano  said,  "the  three  horses  are  gone." 

"Gone?"  said  Rodriguez.  There  was  little  more 
to  say;  it  was  too  dark  to  track  them  and  he  knew 
that  to  find  three  horses  in  Shadow  Valley  was  a  task 
that  might  take  years.  And  after  more  thought 
than  might  seem  to  have  been  needed  he  said ;  "We 
must  go  on  foot." 

"Have  we  far  to  go,  master?"  said  Morano,  for 
the  first  time  daring  to  question  him  since  they  left 
the  cottage  in  Spain. 

"I  have  nowhere  to  go,"  said  Rodriguez.  His  head 
was  downcast  as  he  sat  by  the  fire :  Morano  stood 
and  looked  at  him  unhappily,  full  of  a  sympathy  that 
he  found  no  words  to  express.  A  light  wind  slipped 
through  the  branches  and  everything  else  was  still. 
It  was  some  while  before  he  lifted  his  head ;  and  then 
he  saw  before  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  stand- 


LOWLIGHT  257 

ing  with  folded  arms,  the  man  in  the  brown  leather 
jacket. 

"Nowhere  to  go!"  said  he.  "Who  needs  go 
anywhere  from  Shadow  Valley?" 

Rodriguez  stared  at  him.  "But  I  can't  stay  here !" 
he  said. 

"There  is  no  fairer  forest  known  to  man,"  said  the 
other.    "I  know  many  songs  that  prove  it." 

Rodriguez  made  no  answer  but  dropped  his  eyes, 
gazing  with  listless  glance  once  more  at  the  ground. 

"Come,  sefior,"  said  the  man  in  the  leather  jacket. 
"None  are  unhappy  in  Shadow  Valley." 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Rodriguez.  Both  he  and 
Morano  were  gazing  curiously  at  the  man  whom  they 
had  saved  three  weeks  ago  from  the  noose. 

"Your  friend,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"No  friend  can  help  me,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Sefior,  said  the  stranger  across  the  fire,  still 
standing  with  folded  arms,  "I  remain  under  an 
obligation  to  no  man.  If  you  have  an  enemy  or  love 
a  lady,  and  if  they  dwell  within  a  hundred  miles, 
either  shall  be  before  you  within  a  week." 

Rodriguez  shook  his  head,  and  silence  fell  by  the 
camp-fire.  And  after  awhile  Rodriguez,  who  was 
accustomed  to  dismiss  a  subject  when  it  was  ended, 
saw  the  stranger's  eyes  on  him  yet,  still  waiting  for 
him  to  say  more.  And  those  clear  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  do  more  than  wait,  seemed  almost  to  command, 
till  they  overcame  Rodriguez'  will  and  he  obeyed  and 
said,  although  he  could  feel  each  word  struggling  to 
stay  unuttered,  "Seiior,  I  went  to  the  wars  to  win  a 


258  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

castle  and  a  piece  of  land  thereby;  and  might  per- 
chance have  wed  and  ended  my  wanderings,  with 
those  of  my  servant  here ;  but  the  wars  are  over  and 
no  castle  is  won." 

And  the  stranger  saw  by  his  face  in  the  firelight, 
and  knew  from  the  tones  of  his  voice  in  the  still 
night,  the  trouble  that  his  words  had  not  expressed. 

"I  remain  under  an  obligation  to  no  man,"  said 
the  stranger.  *'Be  at  this  place  in  four  weeks'  time, 
and  you  shall  have  a  castle  as  large  as  any  that  men 
win  by  war,  and  a  goodly  park  thereby." 

"Your  castle,  master!"  said  Morano  delighted, 
whose  only  thought  up  to  then  was  as  to  who  had  got 
his  horses.  But  Rodriguez  only  stared:  and  the 
stranger  said  no  more  but  turned  on  his  heel.  And 
then  Rodriguez  awoke  out  of  his  silence  and  wonder. 
"But  where  ?"  he  said.    "What  castle  ?" 

"That  you  will  see,"  said  the  stranger. 

"But,  but  how  ..."  said  Rodriguez.  What  he 
meant  was,  "How  can  I  believe  you?"  but  he  did 
not  put  it  in  words. 

"My  word  was  never  broken,"  said  the  other. 
And  that  is  a  good  boast  to  make,  for  those  of  us 
who  can  make  it;  if  we  need  boast  at  all. 

"Whose  word?"  said  Rodriguez,  looking  him  in 
the  eyes. 

The  smoke  from  the  fire  between  them  was  thick- 
ening greyly  as  though  something  had  been  cast  on 
it.  "The  word,"  he  said,  "of  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley." 

Rodriguez  gazing  through  the  increasing  smoke 


LOWLIGHT  259 

saw  not  to  the  other  side.  He  rose  and  walked  round 
the  fire,  but  the  strange  man  was  gone. 

Rodriguez  came  back  to  his  place  by  the  fire  and 
sat  long  there  in  silence.  Morano  was  bubbling  over 
to  speak,  but  respected  his  master's  silence:  for 
Rodriguez  was  gazing  into  the  deeps  of  the  fire  see- 
ing pictures  there  that  were  brighter  than  any  that  he 
had  known.  They  were  so  clear  now  that  they 
seemed  almost  true.  He  saw  Serafina's  face  there 
looking  full  at  him.  He  watched  it  long  until  other 
pictures  hid  it,  visions  that  had  no  meaning  for 
Rodriguez.  And  not  till  then  he  spoke.  And  when 
he  spoke  his  face  was  almost  smiling. 

"Well,  Morano,"  he  said,  "have  we  come  by  that 
castle  at  last?" 

"That  man  does  not  lie,  master,"  he  answered: 
and  his  eyes  were  glittering  with  shrewd  conviction. 

"What  shall  we  do  then?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Let  us  go  to  some  village,  master,"  said  Morano, 
"until  the  time  he  said." 

"What  village?"    Rodriguez  asked. 

"I  know  not,  master,"  answered  Morano,  his  face 
a  puzzle  of  innocence  and  wonder;  and  Rodriguez 
fell  back  into  thought  again.  And  the  dancing  flames 
calmed  down  to  a  deep,  quiet  glow ;  and  soon  Rodri- 
guez stepped  back  a  yard  or  two  from  the  fire  to 
where  Morano  had  prepared  his  bed ;  and,  watching 
the  fire  still,  and  turning  over  thoughts  that  flashed 
and  changed  as  fast  as  the  embers,  he  went  to 
wonderful  dreams  that  were  no  more  strange  or 
elusive  than  that  valley's  wonderful  king. 


26o  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

When  he  spoke  in  the  morning  the  camp-fire  was 
newly  Ht  and  there  was  a  smell  of  bacon;  and 
Morano,  out  of  breath  and  puzzled,  was  calling  to 
him. 

"Master,"  he  said,  "I  was  mistaken  about  those 
horses." 

"Mistaken?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"They  were  just  as  I  left  them,  master,  all  tied  to 
the  tree  with  my  knots," 

Rodriguez  left  it  at  that.  Morano  could  make 
mistakes  and  the  forest  was  full  of  wonders:  any- 
thing might  happen.    "We  will  ride,"  he  said. 

Morano's  breakfast  was  as  good  as  ever;  and, 
when  he  had  packed  up  those  few  belongings  that 
make  a  dwelling-place  of  any  chance  spot  in  the 
wilderness,  they  mounted  the  horses,  which  were 
surely  there,  and  rode  away  through  sunlight  and 
green  leaves.  They  rode  slow,  for  the  branches  were 
low  over  the  path,  and  whoever  canters  in  a  forest 
and  closes  his  eyes  against  a  branch  has  to  consider 
whether  he  will  open  them  to  be  whipped  by  the  next 
branch  or  close  them  till  he  bumps  his  head  into 
a  tree.  And  it  suited  Rodriguez  to  loiter,  for  he 
thought  thus  to  meet  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley 
again  or  his  green  bowmen  and  learn  the  answers 
to  innumerable  questions  about  his  castle  which  were 
wandering  through  his  mind. 

They  ate  and  slept  at  noon  in  the  forest's  glitter- 
ing greenness. 

They  passed  afterwards  by  the  old  house  in  the 
wood,  in  which  the  bowmen  feasted,  for  they  fol- 


LOWLIGHT  261 

lowed  the  track  that  they  had  taken  before.  They 
knocked  loud  on  the  door  as  they  passed  but  the 
house  was  empty.  They  heard  the  sound  of  a  multi- 
tude felling  trees,  but  whenever  they  approached 
the  sound  of  chopping  ceased.  Again  and  again 
they  left  the  track  and  rode  towards  the  sound 
of  chopping,  and  every  time  the  chopping  died  away 
just  as  they  drew  close.  They  saw  many  a  tree  half 
felled,  but  never  a  green  bowman.  And  at  last  they 
left  it  as  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  forest  and 
returned  to  the  track  lest  they  lose  it,  for  the  track 
was  more  important  to  them  than  curiosity,  and 
evening  had  come  and  was  filling  the  forest  with 
dimness,  and  shadows  steaHng  across  the  track  were 
beginning  to  hide  it  away.  In  the  distance  they 
heard  the  invisible  woodmen  chopping. 

And  then  they  camped  again  and  lit  their  fire ;  and 
night  came  down  and  the  two  wanderers  slept. 

The  nightingale  sang  until  he  woke  the  cuckoo : 
and  the  cuckoo  filled  the  leafy  air  so  full  of  his  two 
limpid  notes  that  the  dreams  of  Rodriguez  heard 
them  and  went  away,  back  over  their  border  to 
dreamland.  Rodriguez  awoke  Morano,  who  lit  his 
fire :  and  soon  they  had  struck  their  camp  and  were 
riding  on. 

By  noon  they  saw  that  if  they  hurried  on  they 
could  come  to  Lowlight  by  nightfall.  But  this  was 
not  Rodriguez'  plan,  for  he  had  planned  to  ride  into 
Lowlight,  as  he  had  done  once  before,  at  the  hour 
when  Serafina  sat  in  her  Ijalcony  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  as  Spanish  ladies  in  those  days  sometimes 


262  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

did.  So  they  tarried  long  by  their  resting-place  at 
noon  and  then  rode  slowly  on.  And  when  they 
camped  that  night  they  were  still  in  the  forest. 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez  over  the  camp-fire, 
"to-morrow  brings  me  to  Lowlight." 

"Aye,  master,"  said  Morano,  "we  shall  be  there 
to-morrow." 

"That  sefior  with  whom  I  had  a  meeting  there," 
said  Rodriguez,  "he  .  .  ." 

"He  loves  me  not,"  said  Morano. 

"He  would  surely  kill  you,"  replied  Rodriguez. 

Morano  looked  sideways  at  his  frying-pan. 

"It  would  therefore  be  better,"  continued  Rodri- 
guez, "that  you  should  stay  in  this  camp  while  I 
give  such  greetings  of  ceremony  in  Lowlight  as 
courtesy  demands." 

"I  will  stay,  master,"  said  Morano. 

Rodriguez  was  glad  that  this  was  settled,  for  he 
felt  that  to  follow  his  dreams  of  so  many  nights  to 
that  balconied  house  in  Lowlight  with  Morano  would 
be  no  better  than  visiting  a  house  accompanied  by  a 
dog  that  had  bitten  one  of  the  family. 

"I  will  stay,"  repeated  Morano.  "But,  master 
.  .  ."    The  fat  man's  eyes  were  all  supplication. 

"Yes?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Leave  me  your  mandolin,"  implored  Morano. 

"My  mandolin?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  said  Morano,  "that  sefior  who  likes  my 
fat  body  so  ill  he  would  kill  me,  he  .  .  ." 

"Well?"  said  Rodriguez,  for  Morano  was 
hesitating. 


LOWLIGHT  263 

"He  likes  your  mandolin  no  better,  master." 

Rodriguez  resented  a  slight  to  his  mandolin  as 
much  as  a  slight  to  his  sword,  but  he  smiled  as  he 
looked  at  Morano's  anxious  face. 

"He  would  kill  you  for  your  mandolin,"  Morano 
went  on  eagerly,  "as  he  would  kill  me  for  my 
frying-pan." 

And  at  the  mention  of  that  frying-pan  Rodriguez 
frowned,  although  it  had  given  him  many  a  good 
meal  since  the  night  it  offended  in  Lowlight.  And 
he  would  sooner  have  gone  to  the  wars  without  a 
sword  than  under  the  balcony  of  his  heart's  desire 
without  a  mandolin. 

So  Rodriguez  would  hear  no  more  of  Morano's 
request;  and  soon  he  left  the  fire  and  went  to  lie 
down;  but  Morano  sighed  and  sat  gazing  on  into 
the  embers  unhappily;  while  thoughts  plodded  slow 
through  his  mind,  leading  to  nothing.  Late  that 
night  he  threw  fresh  logs  on  the  camp-fire,  so  that 
when  they  awoke  there  was  still  fire  in  the  embers 
And  when  they  had  eaten  their  breakfast  Rodriguez 
said  farewell  to  Morano,  saying  that  he  had  business 
in  Lowlight  that  might  keep  him  a  few  days.  But 
Morano  said  not  farewell  then,  for  he  would  follow 
his  master  as  far  as  the  midday  halt  to  cook  his  next 
meal.  And  when  noon  came  they  were  l)eyond  the 
forest. 

Once  more  Morano  cooked  bacon.  Then  while 
Rodriguez  slept  Morano  took  his  cloak  and  did  all 
that  could  be  done  by  brushing  and  smoothing  to 
give  back  to  it  that  air  that  it  some  time  had,  before 


264  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

it  had  flapped  upon  so  many  winds  and  wrapped 
Rodriguez  on  such  various  beds,  and  met  the  vicis- 
situdes that  make  this  story. 

For  the  plume  he  could  do  little. 

And  his  master  awoke,  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
went  to  his  horse  and  gave  Morano  his  orders.  He 
was  to  go  back  with  two  of  the  horses  to  their  last 
camp  in  the  forest  and  take  with  him  all  their  kit 
except  one  blanket  and  make  himself  comfortable 
there  and  wait  till  Rodriguez  came. 

And  then  Rodriguez  rode  slowly  away,  and 
Morano  stood  gazing  mournfully  and  warningly  at 
the  mandolin ;  and  the  warnings  were  not  lost  upon 
Rodriguez,  though  he  would  never  admit  that  he 
saw  in  Morano's  staring  eyes  any  wise  hint  that  he 
heeded. 

And  Morano  sighed,  and  went  and  untethered  his 
horses;  and  soon  he  was  riding  lonely  back  to  the 
forest.  And  Rodriguez  taking  the  other  way  saw 
at  once  the  towers  of  Lowlight. 

Does  my  reader  think  that  he  then  set  spurs  to  his 
horse,  galloping  towards  that  house  about  whose 
balcony  his  dreams  flew  every  night  ?  No,  it  was  far 
from  evening;  far  yet  from  the  colour  and  calm  in 
which  the  light  with  never  a  whisper  says  farewell  to 
Earth,  but  with  a  gesture  that  the  horizon  hides  takes 
silent  leave  of  the  fields  on  which  she  has  danced 
with  joy;  far  yet  from  the  hour  that  shone  for 
Serafina  like  a  great  halo  round  her  and  round  her 
mother's  house. 

We   cannot   believe   that   one   hour   more    than 


LOWLIGHT  265 

another  shone  upon  Serafina,  or  that  the  dim  end 
of  the  evening  was  only  hers :  but  these  are  the 
Chronicles  of  Rodriguez,  who  of  all  the  things  that 
befell  him  treasured  most  his  memory  of  Serafina  in 
the  twilight,  and  who  held  that  this  hour  was  hers 
as  much  as  her  raiment  and  her  balcony :  such  there- 
fore it  is  in  these  chronicles. 

And  so  he  loitered,  waiting  for  the  slow  sun  to 
set :  and  when  at  last  a  tint  on  the  walls  of  Lowlight 
came  with  the  magic  of  Earth's  most  faery  hour  he 
rode  in  slowly  not  perhaps  wholly  unwitting,  for  all 
his  anxious  thoughts  of  Serafina,  that  a  little  air  of 
romance  from  the  Spring  and  the  evening  followed 
this  lonely  rider. 

From  some  way  off  he  saw  that  balcony  that  had 
drawn  him  back  from  the  other  side  of  the  far 
Pyrenees.  Sometimes  he  knew  that  it  drew  him  and 
mostly  he  knew  it  not;  yet  always  that  curved 
balcony  brought  him  nearer,  ever  since  he  turned 
from  the  field  of  the  false  Don  Alvidar :  the  balcony 
held  him  with  invisible  threads,  such  as  those  with 
which  Earth  draws  in  the  birds  at  evening.  And 
there  was  Serafina  in  her  balcony. 

When  Rodriguez  saw  Serafina  sitting  there  in 
the  twilight,  just  as  he  had  often  dreamed,  he  looked 
no  more  but  lowered  his  head  to  the  withered  rose 
that  he  carried  now  in  his  hand,  the  rose  that  he  had 
found  by  that  very  balcony  under  another  moon. 
And,  gazing  still  at  the  rose,  he  rode  on  under  the 
balcony,  and  passed  it,  until  his  hoof -beats  were 
heard  no  more  in  Lowlight  and  he  and  his  horse 


266  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

were  one  dim  shape  between  the  night  and  the 
twihght.    And  still  he  held  on. 

He  knew  not  yet,  but  only  guessed,  who  had 
thrown  that  rose  from  the  balcony  on  the  night 
when  he  slept  on  the  dust :  he  knew  not  who  it  was 
that  he  fought  on  the  same  night,  and  dared  not 
guess  what  that  unknown  hidalgo  miglit  be  to 
Serafina.  He  had  no  claim  to  more  from  that  house, 
which  once  gave  him  so  cold  a  welcome,  than  thus 
to  ride  by  it  in  silence.  And  he  knew  as  he  rode 
that  the  cloak  and  the  plume  that  he  wore  scarce 
seemed  the  same  as  those  that  had  floated  by  when 
more  than  a  month  ago  he  had  ridden  past  that 
balcony;  and  the  withered  rose  that  he  carried 
added  one  more  note  of  autumn.  And  yet  he 
hoped. 

And  so  he  rode  into  twilight  and  was  hid  from 
the  sight  of  the  village,  a  worn,  pathetic  figure, 
trusting  vaguely  to  vague  powers  of  good  fortune 
that  govern  all  men,  but  that  favour  youth. 

And,  sure  enough,  it  was  not  yet  wholly  moon- 
light when  cantering  hooves  came  down  the  road 
behind  him.  It  was  once  more  that  young  hidalgo. 
And  as  soon  as  he  drew  rein  beside  Rodriguez  both 
reached  out  merry  hands  as  though  their  former 
meeting  had  been  some  errand  of  joy.  And  as 
Rodriguez  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  while  the  two 
men  leaned  over  clasping  hands,  in  light  still  clear 
though  faded,  he  could  not  doubt  Serafina  was  his 
sister. 

"Senor,"  said  his  old  enemy,  "will  you  tarry  with 


LOWLIGHT  267 

us,  in  our  house  a  few  days,  If  your  journey  is  not 
urgent?" 

Rodriguez  gasped  for  joy;  for  the  messenger  from 
LowHght,  the  certainty  that  here  was  no  rival,  the 
summons  to  the  house  of  his  dreams'  pilgrimage, 
came  all  together:  his  hand  still  clasped  the 
stranger's.  Yet  he  answered  with  the  due  ceremony 
that  that  age  and  land  demanded :  then  they  turned 
and  rode  together  towards  Lowlight.  And  first  the 
young  men  told  each  other  their  names;  and  the 
stranger  told  how  he  dwelt  with  his  mother  and 
sister  in  the  house  that  Rodriguez  knew,  and  his 
name  was  Don  Alderon  of  the  Valley  of  Dawnlight. 
His  house  had  dwelt  in  that  valley  since  times  out 
of  knowledge ;  but  then  the  Moors  had  come  and  his 
forbears  had  fled  to  Lowlight :  the  Moors  were  gone 
now,  for  which  Saint  Michael  and  all  fighting  Saints 
Idc  praised;  but  there  were  certain  difficulties  about 
his  right  to  the  Valley  of  Dawnlight.  So  they 
dwelt  in  Lowlight  still. 

And  Rodriguez  told  of  the  war  that  there  was 
beyond  the  Pyrenees  and  how  the  just  cause  had 
won,  but  little  more  than  that  he  was  able  to  tell, 
for  he  knew  scarce  more  of  the  cause  for  which 
he  had  fought  than  History  knows  of  it,  who  chooses 
her  incidents  and  seems  to  forget  so  much.  And  as 
they  talked  they  came  to  the  house  with  the  balcony. 
A  waning  moon  cast  light  over  it  that  was  now  no 
longer  twilight ;  but  was  the  light  of  wild  things  of 
the  woods,  and  birds  of  prey,  and  men  in  mountains 
outlawed  by  the  King,  and  magic,  and  mystery,  and 


268  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

the  quests  of  love.  Serafina  had  left  her  place: 
lights  gleamed  now  in  the  windows.  And  when  the 
door  was  opened  the  hall  seemed  to  Rodriguez  so 
much  less  hugely  hollow,  so  much  less  full  of 
ominous  whispered  echoes,  that  his  courage  rose 
high  as  he  went  through  it  with  Alderon,  and  they 
entered  the  room  together  that  they  had  entered 
together  before.  In  the  long  room  beyond  many 
candles  he  saw  Dofia  Serafina  and  her  mother 
rising  up  to  greet  him.  Neither  the  ceremonies  of 
that  age  nor  Rodriguez'  natural  calm  would  have 
entirely  concealed  his  emotion  had  not  his  face  been 
hidden  as  he  bowed.  They  spoke  to  him;  they 
asked  him  of  his  travels;  Rodriguez  answered  with 
effort.  He  saw  by  their  manner  that  Don  Alderon 
must  have  explained  much  in  his  favour.  He  had 
this  time,  to  cheer  him,  a  very  different  greeting; 
and  yet  he  felt  little  more  at  ease  than  when  he  had 
stood  there  late  at  night  before,  with  one  eye  ban- 
daged and  wearing  only  one  shoe,  suspected  of  he 
knew  not  what  brawling  and  violence. 

It  was  not  until  Dona  Mirana,  the  mother  of 
Serafina,  asked  him  to  play  to  them  on  his  mandolin 
that  Rodriguez'  ease  returned.  He  bowed  then  and 
brought  round  his  mandolin,  which  had  been  slung 
behind  him ;  and  knew  a  triumphant  champion  was 
by  him  now,  one  old  in  the  ways  of  love  and  wise 
in  the  sorrows  of  man,  a  slender  but  potent  voice, 
well-skilled  to  tell  what  there  were  not  words  to  say ; 
a  voice  unhindered  by  language,  unlimited  even  by 
thought,  whose  universal  meaning  was  heard  and 


LOWLIGHT  269 

understood,  sometimes  perhaps  by  wandering  spirits 
of  light,  beaten  far  by  some  evil  thought  for  their 
heavenly  courses  and  passing  close  along  the  coasts 
of  Earth. 

And  Rodriguez  played  no  tune  he  had  ever  known, 
nor  any  airs  that  he  had  heard  men  play  in  lanes  in 
Andalusia ;  but  he  told  of  things  that  he  knew  not, 
of  sadnesses  that  he  had  scarcely  felt  and  undreamed 
exaltations.  It  was  the  hour  of  need,  and  the  man- 
dolin knew. 

And  when  all  was  told  that  the  mandolin  can  tell 
of  whatever  is  wistfulest  in  the  spirit  of  man,  a  mood 
of  merriment  entered  its  old  curved  sides  and  there 
came  from  its  hollows  a  measure  such  as  they  dance 
to  when  laughter  goes  over  the  greens  in  Spain. 
Never  a  song  sang  Rodriguez;  the  mandolin  said 
all. 

And  what  message  did  Serafina  receive  from  those 
notes  that  were  strange  even  to  Rodriguez?  Were 
they  not  stranger  to  her?  I  have  said  that  spirits 
blown  far  out  of  their  course  and  nearing  the 
.mundane  coasts  hear  mortal  music  sometimes,  and 
hearing  understand.  And  if  they  cannot  understand 
those  snatches  of  song,  all  about  mortal  things  and 
human  needs,  that  are  wafted  rarely  to  them  by 
chance  passions,  how  much  more  surely  a  young 
mortal  heart,  so  near  Rodriguez,  heard  what  he 
would  say  and  understood  the  message  however 
strange. 

When  Dona  Mirana  and  her  daughter  rose,  ex- 
changing their  little  curtsies  for  the  low  bows  of 


270  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Rodriguez,  and  so  retired  for  the  night,  the  long 
room  seemed  to  Rodriguez  now  empty  of  threatening 
omens.  The  great  portraits  that  the  moon  had  Ht, 
and  that  had  frowned  at  him  in  the  moonHght  when 
he  came  here  before,  frowned  at  him  now  no  longer. 
The  anger  that  he  had  known  to  lurk  in  the  darkness 
on  pictured  faces  of  dead  generations  had  gone  with 
the  gloom  that  it  haunted :  they  were  all  passionless 
now  in  the  quiet  light  of  the  candles.  He  looked 
again  at  the  portraits  eye  to  eye,  remembering  looks 
they  had  given  him  in  the  moonlight,  and  all  looked 
back  at  him  with  ages  of  apathy;  and  he  knew  that 
whatever  glimmer  of  former  selves  there  lurks  about 
portraits  of  the  dead  and  gone  was  thinking  only  of 
their  own  past  days  in  years  remote  from  Rodriguez. 
Whether  their  anger  had  flashed  for  a  moment  over 
the  ages  on  that  night  a  month  from  now,  or  whether 
it  was  only  the  moonlight,  he  never  knew.  Their 
spirits  were  back  now  surely  amongst  their  own 
days,  whence  they  deigned  not  to  look  on  the  days 
that  make  these  chronicles. 

Not  till  then  did  Rodriguez  admit,  or  even  know, 
that  he  had  not  eaten  since  his  noonday  meal.  But 
now  he  admitted  this  to  Don  Alderon's  questions; 
and  Don  Alderon  led  him  to  another  chamber  and 
there  regaled  him  with  all  the  hospitality  for  which 
that  time  was  famous.  And  when  Rodriguez  had 
eaten,  Don  Alderon  sent  for  wine,  and  the  butler 
brought  it  in  an  olden  flagon,  dark  wine  of  a  precious 
vintage :  and  soon  the  two  young  men  were  drinking 
together  and  talking  of  the  wickedness  of  the  Moors. 


LOWLIGHT  271 

And  while  they  talked  the  night  grew  late  and  chilly 
and  still,  and  the  hour  came  when  moths  are  fewer 
and  young  men  think  of  bed.  Then  Don  Alderon 
showed  his  guest  to  an  upper  room,  a  long  room  dim 
with  red  hangings,  and  carvings  in  walnut  and  oak, 
which  the  one  candle  he  carried  barely  lit  but  only 
set  queer  shadows  scampering.  And  here  he  left 
Rodriguez,  who  was  soon  in  bed,  with  the  great  red 
hangings  round  him.  And  awhile  he  wondered  at 
the  huge  silence  of  the  house  all  round  him,  with 
never  a  murmur,  never  an  echo,  never  a  sigh;  for 
he  missed  the  passing  of  winds,  branches  waving, 
the  stirring  of  small  beasts,  birds  of  prey  calling, 
and  the  hundred  sounds  of  the  night;  but  soon 
through  the  silence  came  sleep. 

He  did  not  need  to  dream,  for  here  in  the  home  of 
Serafina  he  had  come  to  his  dreams'  end. 

Another  day  shone  on  another  scene ;  for  the  sun- 
light that  went  in  a  narrow  stream  of  gold  and  silver 
between  the  huge  red  curtains  had  sent  away  the 
shadows  that  had  stalked  overnight  through  the 
room,  and  had  scattered  the  eeriness  that  had  lurked 
on  the  far  side  of  furniture,  and  all  the  dimness 
was  gone  that  the  long  red  room  had  harboured. 
And  for  a  while  Rodriguez  did  not  know  where  he 
was ;  and  for  a  while,  when  he  remembered,  he  could 
not  Ix-'lieve  it  true.  He  dressed  with  care,  almost 
with  fear,  and  preened  his  small  moustachios,  which 
at  last  had  grown  again  just  when  he  would  have 
despaired.  Then  he  descended,  and  found  that  he 
had  slept  late,  though  the  three  of  that  ancient  house 


272  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

were  seated  yet  at  the  table,  and  Serafina  all  dressed 
in  white  seemed  to  Rodriguez  to  be  shining  in  rivalry 
with  the  morning.  Ah  dreams  and  fancies  of 
youth  1 


THE    ELEVENTH    CHRONICLE 


18  273 


THE  ELEVENTH  CHRONICLE 

HOW  HE  TURNED  TO   GARDENING  AND  HIS   SWORD 
RESTED 

THESE  were  the  days  that  Rodriguez  always 
remembered ;  and,  side  by  side  with  them,  there 
lodged  in  his  memory,  and  went  down  with  them 
into  his  latter  years,  the  days  and  nights  when  he 
went  through  the  Pyrenees  and  walked  when  he 
would  have  slept  but  had  to  walk  or  freeze :  and  by 
some  queer  rule  that  guides  us  he  treasured  them 
both  in  his  memory,  these  happy  days  in  this  garden 
and  the  frozen  nights  on  the  peaks. 

For  Serafina  showed  Rodriguez  the  garden  that 
behind  the  house  ran  narrow  and  long  to  the  wild. 
There  were  rocks  with  heliotrope  pouring  over  them 
and  flowers  peeping  behind  them,  and  great  azaleas 
all  in  triumphant  bloom,  and  ropes  of  flowering 
creepers  coming  down  from  trees,  and  oleanders, 
and  a  plant  named  popularly  Joy  of  the  South, 
and  small  paths  went  along  it  edged  with  shells 
brought  from  the  far  sea. 

There  was  only  one  street  in  the  village,  and  you 
did  not  go  far  among  the  great  azaleas  before  you 

275 


276  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

lost  sight  of  the  gables;  and  you  did  not  go  far 
before  the  small  paths  ended  with  their  shells  from 
the  distant  sea,  and  there  was  the  mistress  of  all 
gardeners  facing  you,  Mother  Nature  nursing  her 
children,  the  things  of  the  wild.  She  too  had  azaleas 
and  oleanders,  but  they  stood  more  solitary  in  their 
greater  garden  than  those  that  grew  in  the  garden 
of  Doiia  Mirana;  and  she  too  had  little  paths,  only 
they  were  without  borders  and  without  end.  Yet 
looking  from  the  long  and  narrow  garden  at  the 
back  of  that  house  in  Lowlight  to  the  wider  garden 
that  sweeps  round  the  world,  and  is  fenced  by  Space 
from  the  garden  in  Venus  and  by  Space  from  the 
garden  in  Mars,  you  scarce  saw  any  difference  or 
noticed  where  they  met :  the  solitary  azaleas  beyond 
were  gathered  together  by  distance,  and  from  Low- 
light  to  the  horizon  seemed  all  one  garden  in  bloom. 
And  afterwards,  all  his  years,  whenever  Rodriguez 
heard  the  name  of  Spain,  spoken  by  loyal  men,  it  was 
thus  that  he  thought  of  it,  as  he  saw  it  now. 

And  here  he  used  to  walk  with  Serafina  when  she 
tended  flowers  in  the  cool  of  the  morning  or  went  at 
evening  to  water  favourite  blooms.  And  Rodriguez 
would  bring  with  him  his  mandolin,  and  sometimes 
he  touched  it  lightly  or  even  sang,  as  they  rested  on 
some  carved  seat  at  the  garden's  end,  looking  out 
towards  shadowy  shrubs  on  the  shining  hill,  but 
mostly  he  heard  her  speak  of  the  things  she  loved, 
of  what  moths  flew  to  their  garden,  and  which  birds 
sang,  and  how  the  flowers  grew.  Serafina  sat  no 
longer  in  her  balcony  but,   disguising  idleness  by 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  277 

other  names,  they  loitered  along  those  paths  that  the 
seashells  narrowed;  yet  there  was  a  grace  in  their 
loitering  such  as  we  have  not  in  our  dances  now. 
And  evening  stealing  in  from  the  wild  places,  from 
darkening  azaleas  upon  distant  hills,  still  found  them 
in  the  garden,  found  Rodriguez  singing  in  idleness 
undisguised,  or  anxiously  helping  in  some  trivial 
task,  tying  up  some  tendril  that  had  gone  awry,  help- 
ing some  magnolia  that  the  wind  had  wounded. 
Almost  unnoticed  by  him  the  sunlight  would  disap- 
pear, and  the  coloured  blaze  of  the  sunset,  and  then 
the  gloaming;  till  the  colours  of  all  the  flowers 
queerly  changed  and  they  shone  with  that  curious 
glow  which  they  wear  in  the  dusk.  They  returned 
then  to  the  house,  the  garden  behind  them  with 
its  dim  hushed  air  of  a  secret,  before  them  the 
candlelight  like  a  different  land.  And  after  the 
evening  meal  Alderon  and  Rodriguez  would  sit 
late  together  discussing  the  future  of  the  world, 
Rodriguez  holding  that  it  was  intended  that  the 
earth  should  be  ruled  by  Spain,  and  Alderon  fearing 
it  would  all  go  to  the  Moors. 

Days  passed  thus. 

And  then  one  evening  Rodriguez  was  in  the 
garden  with  Serafina;  the  flowers,  dim  and  pale  and 
more  mysterious  than  ever,  poured  out  their  scent 
towards  the  coming  night,  luring  huge  hawk-moths 
from  the  far  dusk  that  was  gathering  about  the 
garden,  to  hover  before  each  bloom  on  myriad  wing- 
beats  too  rapid  for  human  eye :  another  inch  and  the 
fairies  had  peeped  Dut  from  behind  azaleas,  yet  both 


278  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

of  these  late  loiterers  felt  fairies  were  surely  there : 
it  seemed  to  be  Nature's  own  most  secret  hour,  upon 
which  man  trespasses  if  he  venture  forth  from  his 
house:  an  owl  from  his  hidden  haunt  flew  nearer 
the  garden  and  uttered  a  clear  call  once  to  remind 
Rodriguez  of  this:  and  Rodriguez  did  not  heed, 
but  walked  in  silence. 

He  had  played  his  mandolin.  It  had  uttered  to 
the  solemn  hush  of  the  understanding  evening  all 
it  was  able  to  tell ;  and  after  that  cry,  grown  piteous 
with  so  many  human  longings,  for  it  was  an  old 
mandolin,  Rodriguez  felt  there  was  nothing  left 
for  his  poor  words  to  say.  So  he  went  dumb  and 
mournful. 

Serafina  would  have  heard  him  had  he  spoken,  for 
her  thoughts  vibrated  yet  with  the  voice  of  the 
mandolin,  which  had  come  to  her  hearing  as  an 
ambassador  from  Rodriguez,  but  he  found  no  words 
to  match  with  the  mandolin's  high  mood.  His  eyes 
said,  and  his  sighs  told,  what  the  mandolin  had 
uttered;  but  his  tongue  was  silent. 

And  then  Serafina  said,  as  he  walked  all  heavy 
with  silence  past  a  curving  slope  of  dimly  glowing 
azaleas,  "You  like  flowers,  senor?" 

"Seiiorita,  I  adore  them,"  he  replied. 

"Indeed?"  said  Dofia  Serafina. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"And  yet,"  asked  Dofia  Serafina,  "was  it  not  a 
somewhat  withered  or  altogether  faded  flower  that 
you  carried,  unless  I  fancied  wrong,  when  you  rode 
past  our  balcony  ?" 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  279 

"It  was  indeed  faded,"  said  Rodriguez,  "for  the 
rose  was  some  weeks  old." 

"One  who  loved  flowers,  I  thought,"  said  Serafina, 
"would  perhaps  care  more  for  them  fresh." 

Half-dumb  though  Rodriguez  was  his  shewdness 
did  not  desert  him.  To  have  said  that  he  had  the 
rose  from  Serafina  would  have  been  to  claim  as 
though  proven  what  was  yet  no  more  than  a  hope. 

"Seiiorita,"  he  said,  "I  found  the  flower  on  holy 
ground." 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  said,  "that  you  had  travelled 
so  far." 

"I  found  it  here,"  he  said,  "under  your  balcony." 

"Perchance  I  let  it  fall,"  said  she.  "It  was  idle 
of  me." 

"I  guard  it  still,"  he  said,  and  drew  forth  that 
worn  brown  rose. 

"It  was  idle  of  me,"  said  Serafina. 

But  then  in  that  scented  garden  among  the  dim 
lights  of  late  evening  the  ghost  of  that  rose  in- 
troduced their  spirits  one  to  the  other,  so  that  the 
listening  flowers  heard  Rodriguez  telling  the  story 
of  his  heart,  and,  l^ending  over  the  shell-bordered 
path,  heard  Serafina's  answer;  and  all  they  seemed  to 
do  was  but  to  watch  the  evening,  with  leaves  up- 
lifted in  the  hope  of  rain. 

Film  after  film  of  dusk  dropped  down  from  where 
twilight  had  been,  like  an  army  of  darkness  slowly 
pitching  their  tents  on  ground  that  had  been  lost  to 
the  children  of  light.  Out  of  the  wild  lands  all  the 
owls   flew   nearer :   their  long,   clear   cries  and   the 


28o  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

huge  hush  between  them  warned  all  those  lands  that 
this  was  not  man's  hour.  And  neither  Rodriguez 
nor  Serafina  heard  them. 

In  pale  blue  sky  where  none  had  thought  to  see  it 
one  smiling  star  appeared.  It  was  Venus  watching 
lovers,  as  men  of  the  crumbled  centuries  had  be- 
sought her  to  do,  when  they  named  her  so  long  ago, 
kneeling  upon  their  hills  with  bended  heads,  and 
arms  stretched  out  to  her  sweet  eternal  scrutiny. 
Beneath  her  wandering  rays  as  they  danced  down  to 
bless  them  Rodriguez  and  Serafina  talked  low  in  the 
sight  of  the  goddess,  and  their  voices  swayed 
through  the  flowers  with  whispers  and  winds,  not 
troubling  the  little  wild  creatures  that  steal  out  shy 
in  the  dusk,  and  Nature  forgave  them  for  being 
abroad  in  that  hour ;  although,  so  near  that  a  single 
azalea  seemed  to  hide  it,  so  near  seemed  to  beckon 
and  whisper  old  Nature's  eldest  secret. 

When  flowers  glimmered  and  Venus  smiled  and 
all  things  else  were  dim,  they  turned  on  one  of  those 
little  paths  hand  in  hand  homeward. 

Dona  Mirana  glanced  once  at  her  daughter's  eyes 
and  said  nothing.  Don  Alderon  renewed  his  talk 
with  Rodriguez,  giving  reasons  for  his  apprehension 
of  the  conquest  of  the  world  by  the  Moors,  which 
he  had  thought  of  since  last  night;  and  Rodriguez 
agreed  with  all  that  Don  Alderon  said,  but  under- 
stood little,  being  full  of  dreams  that  seemed  to  dance 
on  the  further  side  of  the  candlelight  to  a  strange, 
new,  unheard  tune  that  his  heart  was  aware  of.  He 
gazed  much  at  Serafina  and  said  little. 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  281 

He  drank  no  wine  that  night  with  Don  Alderon : 
what  need  had  he  of  wine?  On  wonderful  journeys 
that  my  pen  cannot  follow,  for  all  the  swiftness  of 
the  wing  from  which  it  came;  on  darting  journeys 
outspeeding  the  lithe  swallow  or  that  great  wanderer 
the  white-fronted  goose,  his  young  thoughts  raced 
by  a  myriad  of  golden  evenings  far  down  the  future 
years.  And  what  of  the  days  he  saw?  Did  he  see 
them  truly?  Enough  that  he  saw  them  in  vision. 
Saw  them  as  some  lone  shephered  on  lifted  downs 
sees  once  go  by  with  music  a  galleon  out  of  the 
East,  with  windy  sails,  and  masts  ablaze  with  pen- 
nants, and  heroes  in  strange  dress  singing  new 
songs ;  and  the  galleon  goes  nameless  by  till  the  sing- 
ing dies  away.  What  ship  was  it  ?  Whither  bound  ? 
Why  there  ?  Enough  that  he  has  seen  it.  Thus  do 
we  glimpse  the  glory  of  rare  days  as  we  swing  round 
the  sun ;  and  youth  is  like  some  high  headland  from 
which  to  see. 

On  the  next  day  he  spoke  with  Dofia  Mirano. 
There  was  little  to  say  but  to  observe  the  courtesies 
appropriate  to  this  occasion,  for  Doiia  Mirana  and 
her  daughter  had  spoken  long  together  already ;  and 
of  one  thing  he  could  say  little,  and  indeed  was  dumb 
when  asked  of  it,  and  that  was  the  question  of  his 
home.  And  then  he  said  that  he  had  a  castle;  and 
when  Dona  Mirana  asked  him  where  it  was  he  said 
vaguely  it  was  to  the  North.  He  trusted  the  word  of 
the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  and  so  he  spoke  of  his 
castle  as  a  man  speaks  the  truth.  And  when  she  asked 
him  of  his  castle  again,  whether  on  rock  or  river  or 


282  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

in  leafy  lands,  he  began  to  describe  how  its  ten  towers 
stood,  being  builded  of  a  rock  that  was  slightly  pink, 
and  how  they  glowed  across  a  hundred  fields,  es- 
pecially at  evening ;  and  suddenly  he  ceased,  perceiv- 
ing all  in  a  moment  he  was  speaking  unwittingly  in 
the  words  of  Don  Alvidar  and  describing  to  Doria 
Mirana  that  rose-pink  castle  on  Ebro.  And  Doiia 
Mirana  knew  then  that  there  was  some  mystery 
about  Rodriguez'  home. 

She  spoke  kindly  to  Rodriguez,  yet  she  neither 
gave  her  consent  nor  yet  withheld  it,  and  he  knew 
there  was  no  immediate  hope  in  her  words.  Graceful 
as  were  his  bows  as  he  withdrew,  he  left  with  scarcely 
another  word  to  say.  All  day  his  castle  hung  over 
him  like  a  cloud,  not  nebulous  and  evanescent  only, 
but  brooding  darkly,  boding  storms,  such  as  the 
orange  blossoms  dread. 

He  walked  again  in  the  garden  with  Serafina,  but 
Dofia  Mirana  was  never  far,  and  the  glamour  of 
the  former  evening,  lit  by  one  star,  was  driven  from 
the  garden  by  his  anxieties  about  that  castle  of  which 
he  could  not  speak.  Serafina  asked  him  of  his  home. 
He  would  not  parry  her  question,  and  yet  he  could 
not  tell  her  that  all  their  future  hung  on  the  promise 
of  a  man  in  an  old  leathern  jacket  calling  himself  a 
king.  So  the  mystery  of  his  habitation  deepened, 
spoiling  the  glamour  of  the  evening.  He  spoke,  in- 
stead, of  the  forest,  hoping  she  might  know  some- 
thing of  that  strange  monarch  to  whom  they  dwelt  so 
near;  but  she  glanced  uneasily  towards  Shadow 
Valley  and  told  him  that  none  in  Lowlight  went  that 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  283 

way.  Sorrow  grew  heavier  round  Rodriguez'  heart 
at  this :  believing  in  the  promise  of  a  man  whose  eyes 
he  trusted  he  had  asked  Serafina  to  marry  him,  and 
Serafina  had  said  Yes;  and  now  he  found  she  knew 
nothing  of  such  a  man,  which  seemed  somehow  to 
Rodriguez  to  weaken  his  promise,  and,  worst  of  all, 
she  feared  the  place  where  he  lived.  He  welcomed 
the  approach  of  Dona  Mirana,  and  all  three  returned 
to  the  house.  For  the  rest  of  that  evening  he  spoke 
little :  but  he  had  formed  his  project. 

When  the  two  ladies  retired  Rodriguez,  who  had 
seemed  tongue-tied  for  many  hours,  turned  to  Don 
Alderon.  His  mother  had  told  Don  Alderon  nothing 
yet;  for  she  was  troubled  by  the  mystery  of  Rod- 
riguez' castle,  and  would  give  him  time  to  make  it 
clear  if  he  could;  for  there  was  something  about  Rod- 
riguez of  which  with  many  pages  I  have  tried  to  ac- 
quaint my  reader  but  which  was  clear  when  first  she 
saw  him  to  Dona  Mirana.  In  fact  she  liked  him  at 
once,  as  I  hope  that  perhaps  by  now  my  reader  may. 
He  turned  to  Don  Alderon,  who  was  surprised  to  see 
the  vehemence  with  which  his  guest  suddenly  spoke 
after  those  hours  of  silence,  and  Rodriguez  told  him 
the  story  of  his  love  and  the  story  of  both  his  castles, 
that  which  had  vanished  from  the  bank  of  the  Ebro 
and  that  which  was  promised  him  by  the  King  of 
Shadow  Valley.  And  often  Don  Alderon  interrupted. 

"Oh,  Rodriguez,"  he  said,  "you  are  welcome  to 
our  ancient,  unfortunate  house":  and  later  he  said, 
"I  have  met  no  man  that  had  a  prettier  way  with 
the  sword." 


284  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

But  Rodriguez  held  on  to  the  end,  telling  all  he 
had  to  tell;  and  especially  that  he  was  landless  and 
penniless  but  for  that  one  promise;  and  as  for  the 
sword,  he  said,  he  was  but  as  a  child  playing  before 
the  sword  of  Don  Alderon.  And  this  Don  Aderon 
said  was  in  no  wise  so,  though  there  were  a  few 
cunning  passes  that  he  had  learned,  hoping  that  the 
day  might  come  for  him  to  do  God  a  service  thereby 
by  slaying  some  of  the  Moors :  and  heartily  he  gave 
his  consent  and  felicitation.  But  this  Rodriguez 
would  not  have:  "Come  with  me,"  he  said,  "to 
the  forest  to  the  place  where  I  met  this  man,  and  if 
we  find  him  not  there  we  will  go  to  the  house  in 
which  his  bowmen  feast  and  there  have  news  of  him, 
and  he  shall  show  us  the  castle  of  his  promise  and, 
if  it  be  such  a  castle  as  you  approve,  then  your  con- 
sent shall  be  given,  but  if  not  .  .  ." 

"Gladly  indeed,"  said  Don  Alderon.  "We  will 
start  to-morrow." 

And  Rodriguez  took  his  words  literally,  though  his 
host  had  meant  no  more  than  what  we  should  call 
"one  of  these  days,"  but  Rodriguez  was  being  con- 
sumed with  a  great  impatience. 

And  so  they  arranged  it,  and  Don  Alderon  went  to 
bed  with  a  feeling,  which  is  favourable  to  dreams, 
that  on  the  next  day  they  went  upon  an  adventure ; 
for  neither  he  nor  anyone  in  that  village  had  entered 
Shadow  Valley. 

Once  more  next  morning  Rodriguez  walked  with 
Serafina,  with  something  of  the  romance  of  the  gar- 
den gone,  for  Dofia  Mirana  walked  there  too;  and 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  285 

romance  is  like  one  of  those  sudden,  wonderful 
colours  that  flash  for  a  moment  out  of  a  drop  of  dew  ; 
a  passing  shadow  obscures  them ;  and  ask  another  to 
see  it,  and  the  colour  is  not  the  same :  move  but  a 
yard  and  the  ray  of  enchantment  is  gone.  Dofia 
Mirana  saw  the  romance  of  that  garden,  but  she  saw 
it  from  thirty  years  away;  it  was  all  different  what 
she  saw,  all  changed  from  a  certain  day  ( for  love  was 
love  in  the  old  days)  :  and  to  Rodriguez  and  Serafina 
it  seemed  that  she  could  not  see  romance  at  all,  and 
somehow  that  dimmed  it.  Almost  their  eyes  seemed 
to  search  amongst  the  azaleas  for  the  romance  of  that 
other  evening. 

And  then  Rodriguez  told  Serafina  that  he  was  rid- 
ing away  with  her  brother  to  see  about  the  affairs  of 
his  castle,  and  that  they  would  return  in  a  few  days. 
Scarcely  a  hint  he  gave  that  those  affairs  mignt  not 
prosper,  for  he  trusted  the  word  of  the  King  of 
Shadow  Valley.  His  confidence  had  returned:  and 
soon,  with  swords  at  side  and  cloaks  floating  brilliant 
on  light  winds  of  April,  Rodriguez  and  Alderon  rode 
away  together. 

Soon  in  the  distance  they  saw  Shadow  Valley. 
And  then  Rodriguez  bethought  him  of  Morano  and 
of  the  foul  wrong  he  committed  against  Don  Alderon 
with  his  frying-pan,  and  how  he  was  there  in  the 
camp  to  which  he  was  l)ringing  his  friend.  And  so 
he  said :  "That  vile  knave  Morano  still  lives  and  in- 
sists on  serving  me." 

"l(  he  be  near,"  said  Don  Alderon.  "T  pray  you  to 
disarm  liim  of  his  frying-pan   for  the  sake  of  my 


286  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

honour,  which  does  not  suffer  me  to  be  stricken  with 
culinary  weapons,  but  only  with  the  sword,  the  lance, 
or  even  bolts  of  cannon  or  arquebuss.  .  .  ."  He  was 
thinking  of  yet  more  weapons  when  Rodriguez  put 
spurs  to  his  horse.  "He  is  near,"  he  said;  "I  will 
ride  on  and  disarm  him." 

So  Rodriguez  came  cantering  into  the  forest  while 
Don  Alderon  ambled  a  mile  or  so  behind  him. 

And  there  he  found  his  old  camp  and  saw  Morano, 
sitting  upon  the  ground  by  a  small  fire.  Morano 
sprang  up  at  once  with  joy  in  his  eyes,  his  face 
wreathed  with  questions,  which  he  did  not  put  into 
words  for  he  did  not  pry  openly  into  his  master's 
affairs. 

"Morano,"  said  Rodriguez,  "give  me  your 
frying-pan." 

"My  frying-pan?"  said  Morano. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodriguez.  And  when  he  held  in  his 
hand  that  blackened,  greasy  utensil  he  told  Morano, 
"That  senor  you  met  in  Lowlight  rides  with  me." 

The  cheerfulness  faded  out  of  Morano's  face  as 
light  fades  at  sunset.  "Master,"  he  said,  "he  will 
surely  slay  me  now." 

"He  will  not  slay  you,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Master,"  Morano  said,  "he  hopes  for  my  fat 
carcase  as  much  as  men  hope  for  the  unicorn,  when 
they  wear  their  bright  green  coats  and  hunt  him  with 
dogs  in  Spring."  I  know  not  what  legend  Morano 
stored  in  his  mind,  nor  how  much  of  it  was  true. 
"And  when  he  finds  me  without  my  frying-pan  he 
will  surely  slay  me." 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  287 

"That  senor,"  said  Rodriguez  emphatically,  "must 
not  be  hit  with  the  frying-pan." 

"That  is  a  hard  rule,  master,"  said  Morano. 

And  Rodriguez  was  indignant,  when  he  heard  that, 
that  anyone  should  thus  blaspheme  against  an  obvious 
law  of  chivalry;  while  Morano's  only  thought  was 
upon  the  injustice  of  giving  up  the  sweets  of  life  for 
the  sake  of  a  frying-pan.  Thus  they  were  at  cross- 
purposes.  And  for  some  while  they  stood  silent, 
while  Rodriguez  hung  the  reins  of  his  horse  over  the 
broken  branch  of  a  tree.  And  then  Don  Alderon  rode 
into  the  wood. 

All  then  that  was  most  pathetic  in  Morano's  sense 
of  injustice  looked  out  of  his  eyes  as  he  turned  them 
upon  his  master.  But  Don  Alderon  scarcely  glanced 
at  all  at  Morano,  even  when  he  handed  to  him  the 
reins  of  his  horse  as  he  walked  on  towards  Rodriguez. 

And  there  in  that  leafy  place  they  rested  all 
through  the  evening,  for  they  had  not  started  so  early 
upon  their  journey  as  travellers  should.  Eight  days 
had  gone  since  Rodriguez  had  left  that  small  camp  to 
ride  to  Lowlight,  and  to  the  apex  of  his  life  towards 
which  all  his  days  had  ascended;  and  in  that  time 
Morano  had  collected  good  store  of  wood  and,  in 
little  ways  unthought  of  by  dwellers  in  cities,  had 
made  the  place  like  such  homes  as  wanderers  find. 
Don  Alderon  was  charmed  with  their  roof  of  tower- 
ing greenness,  and  with  the  choirs  of  those  which 
inhabited  it  and  which  were  now  all  coming  home  to 
sing.  And  at  some  moment  in  the  twilight,  neither 
Rodriguez  nor  Alderon  noticed  when,  Morano  re- 


288  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

possessed  himself  of  his  frying-pan,  unbidden  by 
Rodriguez,  but  acting  on  a  certain  tacit  permission 
that  there  seemed  to  be  in  the  twiHght  or  in  the  mood 
of  the  two  young  men  as  they  sat  by  the  fire.  And 
soon  he  was  cooking  once  more,  at  a  fire  of  his  own, 
with  something  of  the  air  that  you  see  upon  a  Field 
Marshal's  face  who  has  lost  his  baton  and  found  it 
again.     Have  you  ever  noticed  it,  reader? 

And  when  the  meal  was  ready  Morano  served  it  in 
silence,  moving  unobtrusively  in  the  gloom  of  the 
wood ;  for  he  knew  that  he  was  forgiven,  yet  not  so 
openly  that  he  wished  to  insist  on  his  presence  or  even 
to  imply  his  possession  of  the  weapon  that  fried  the 
bacon.  So,  like  a  dryad  he  moved  from  tree  to  tree, 
and  like  any  fabulous  creature  was  gone  again.  And 
the  tw^o  young  men  supped  well,  and  sat  on  and  on, 
watching  the  sparks  go  up  on  innumerable  journeys 
from  the  fire  at  which  they  sat,  to  be  lost  to  sight  in 
huge  wastes  of  blackness  and  stars,  lost  to  sight 
utterly,  lost  like  the  spirit  of  man  to  the  gaze  of  our 
wonder  when  we  try  to  follow  its  journey  beyond 
the  hearths  that  we  know. 

All  the  next  day  they  rode  on  through  the  forest, 
till  they  came  to  the  black  circle  of  the  old  fire  of 
their  next  camp.  And  here  Rodriguez  halted  on 
account  of  the  attraction  that  one  of  his  old  camps 
seems  to  have  for  a  wanderer.  It  drew  his  feet 
towards  it,  this  blackened  circle,  this  hearth  that  for 
one  night  made  one  spot  in  the  wilderness  home.  Don 
Alderon  did  not  care  whether  they  tarried  or  hurried ; 
he  loved  his  journey  through  this  leafy  land ;  the  cool 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  289 

night-breeze  slipping  round  the  tree-trunks  was  new 
to  him,  and  new  was  the  comradeship  of  the  abundant 
stars;  the  quest  itself  was  a  joy  to  him;  with  his 
fancy  he  built  Rodriguez'  mysterious  castle  no  less 
magnificently  than  did  Don  Alvidar.  Sometimes  they 
talked  of  the  castle,  each  of  the  young  men  picturing 
it  as  he  saw  it;  but  in  the  warmth  of  the  camp-fire 
after  Morano  slept  they  talked  of  more  than  these 
chronicles  can  tell. 

In  the  morning  they  pressed  on  as  fast  as  the 
forest's  low  boughs  would  allow  them.  They  passed 
somewhere  near  the  great  cottage  in  which  the  bow- 
men feasted;  but  they  held  on,  as  they  had  decided 
after  discussion  to  do,  for  the  last  place  in  which 
Rodriguez  had  seen  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley, 
which  was  the  place  of  his  promise.  And  before  any 
dimness  came  even  to  the  forest,  or  golden  shafts 
down  colonnades  which  were  before  all  cathedrals, 
they  found  the  old  camp  that  they  sought,  which  still 
had  a  clear  flavour  of  magic  for  Morano  on  account 
of  the  moth-like  coming  and  going  of  his  three  horses 
after  he  had  tied  them  to  that  tree.  And  here  they 
looked  for  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley;  and  then 
Rodriguez  called  him ;  and  then  all  three  of  them 
called  him,  shouting  "King  of  Shadow  Valley"  all 
together.  No  answer  came :  the  woods  were  without 
echo:  nothing  stirred  but  fallen  leaves.  But  before 
those  miles  of  silence  could  depress  them  Rodriguez 
hit  upon  a  simple  plan,  which  was  that  he  and  Alderon 
should  search  all  round,  far  from  the  track,  while 
Morano  stayed  in  the  camp  and  shouted  frequently, 


290  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

and  they  would  not  go  out  of  hearing  o£  his  voice: 
for  Shadow  Valley  had  a  reputation  of  being  a  bad 
forest  for  travellers  to  find  their  way  there ;  indeed, 
few  ever  attempted  to.  So  they  did  as  he  said,  he 
and  Alderon  searching  in  different  directions,  while 
Morano  remained  in  the  camp,  lifting  a  large  and 
melancholy  voice.  And  though  rumour  said  it  was 
hard  to  find  the  way  when  twenty  yards  from  the 
track  in  Shadow  Valley,  it  did  not  say  it  was  hard  to 
find  the  green  bowmen:  and  Rodriguez,  knowing 
that  they  guarded  the  forest  as  the  shadows  of  trees 
guard  the  coolness,  was  assured  he  would  meet  with 
some  of  them  even  though  he  should  miss  their 
master.  So  he  and  Alderon  searched  till  the  forest 
darkness  came  and  only  birds  on  high  branches  still 
had  light;  and  they  never  saw  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley  or  any  trace  whatever  of  any  man.  And 
Alderon  first  returned  to  the  encampment ;  but  Rod- 
riguez searched  on  into  the  night,  searching  and  call- 
ing through  the  darkness,  and  feeling,  as  every 
minute  went  by  and  every  faint  call  of  Morano,  that 
his  castle  was  fading  away,  slipping  past  oak-tree  and 
thorn-bush,  to  take  its  place  among  the  unpitying 
stars.  And  when  he  returned  at  last  from  his  useless 
search  he  found  Morano  standing  by  a  good  fire, 
and  the  sight  of  it  a  little  cheered  Rodriguez,  and  the 
sight  of  the  firelight  on  Morano's  face,  and  the 
homely  comfort  of  the  camp,  for  everything  is 
comparative. 

And  over  their  supper  Rodriguez  and  Alderon 
agreed  that  they  had  come  to  a  part  of  the  forest  too 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  291 

remote  from  the  home  of  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley,  and  decided  to  go  the  next  day  to  the  house 
of  the  green  bowmen :  and  before  he  slept  Rod- 
riguez felt  once  more  that  all  was  well  with  his 
castle. 

Yet  when  the  next  day  came  they  searched  again, 
for  Rodriguez  remembered  how  it  was  to  this  very 
place  that  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  had  bidden 
him  come  in  four  weeks,  and  though  this  period  was 
not  yet  accomplished,  he  felt,  and  Alderon  fully 
agreed,  they  had  waited  long  enough :  so  they 
searched  all  the  morning,  and  then  fulfilled  their  de- 
cision of  overnight  by  riding  for  the  great  cottage 
Rodriguez  knew.  All  the  way  they  met  no  one.  And 
Rodriguez'  gaiety  came  back  as  they  rode,  for  he  and 
Don  Alderon  recognised  more  and  more  clearly  that 
the  bowmen's  great  cottage  was  the  place  they  should 
have  gone  at  first. 

In  early  evening  they  were  just  at  their  journey's 
end;  but  barely  had  they  left  the  track  that  they 
had  ridden  the  day  before,  barely  taken  the  smaller 
path  that  led  after  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  cottage 
when  they  found  themselves  stopped  by  huge  chains 
that  hung  from  tree  to  tree.  High  into  the  trees 
went  the  chains  above  their  heads  where  they  sat 
their  horses,  and  a  chain  ran  every  six  inches  down  to 
the  very  ground :  the  road  was  well  blocked. 

Rodriguez  and  Alderon  hastily  consulted ;  then, 
leaving  the  horses  with  Morano,  they  followed  the 
chains  through  dense  forest  to  find  a  place  where 
they  could   get   the  horses  through.     Finding  the 


292  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

chains  go  on  and  on  and  on,  and  as  evening  was 
drawing  in,  the  two  friends  divided,  Alderon  going 
back  and  Rodriguez  on,  agreeing  to  meet  again  on  the 
path  where  Morano  was. 

It  was  darkening  when  they  met  there,  Rodriguez 
having  found  nothing  but  that  iron  barrier  going  on 
from  trunk  to  trunk,  and  Alderon  having  found  a 
great  gateway  of  iron;  but  it  was  shut.  Through 
the  silent  shadows  stealing  abroad  at  evening  the 
three  men  crashed  their  way  on  foot,  leading  their 
horses,  towards  this  gate;  but  their  way  was  slow 
and  difficult  for  no  path  at  all  led  up  to  it.  It  was 
dark  when  they  reached  it  and  they  saw  the  high 
gate  in  the  night,  a  black  barrier  among  the  trees 
where  no  one  would  wish  to  come,  and  in  forest  that 
seemed  to  these  three  to  be  nearly  impenetrable.  And 
what  astonished  Rodriguez  most  of  all  was  that  the 
chains  had  not  been  across  the  path  when  he  had 
feasted  with  the  green  bowmen. 

They  stood  there  gazing,  all  three,  at  the  dark 
locked  gate,  and  then  they  saw  two  shields  that 
met  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  Rodriguez  mounted  his 
horse  and  stretched  up  to  feel  what  device  there 
was  on  the  beaten  iron;  and  both  the  shields  were 
blank. 

There  they  camped  as  well  as  men  can  when  dark- 
ness has  fallen  before  they  reach  their  camping- 
ground  ;  and  Morano  lit  a  great  fire  before  the  gate, 
and  the  smooth  blank  shields  touching  shoulders 
there  up  above  them  shone  on  Rodriguez  and  Al- 
deron in  the  firelight.    For  a  while  they  wondered  at 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  293 

that  strange  gate  that  stood  there  dividing  the 
wilderness ;  and  then  sleep  came. 

As  soon  as  they  woke  they  called  loudly,  but  no 
one  guarded  that  gate,  no  step  but  theirs  stirred  in 
the  forest.  Then,  leaving  Morano  in  the  camp  with 
its  great  gate  that  led  nowhere,  the  two  young  men 
climbed  up  by  branches  and  chains,  and  were  soon  on 
the  other  side  of  the  gate  and  pressing  on  through 
the  silence  of  the  forest  to  find  the  cottage  in  which 
Rodriguez  had  slept.  And  almost  at  once  the  green 
bowmen  appeared,  ten  of  them  with  their  bows,  in 
front  of  Rodriguez  and  Alderon.  "Stop,"  said  the 
ten  green  bowmen.  When  the  bowmen  said  that, 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

"What  do  you  seek?"  said  the  bowmen. 

"The  King  of  Shadow  Valley,"  answered  Rod- 
riguez. 

"He  is  not  here,"  they  said. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Rodriguez. 

"He  is  nowhere,"  said  one,  "when  he  does  not 
wish  to  be  seen." 

"Then  show  me  the  castle  that  he  promised  me," 
said  Rodriguez. 

"We  know  nothing  of  any  castle,"  said  one  of  the 
bowmen,  and  they  all  shook  their  heads. 

"No  castle?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"No,"  they  said. 

"Has  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  no  castle?"  he 
asked,  beginning  now  to  despair. 

"We  know  of  none,"  they  said.  "He  lives  in  the 
forest." 


294  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

Before  Rodriguez  quite  despaired  he  asked  each 
one  if  they  knew  not  of  any  castle  of  which  their 
King  was  possessed ;  and  each  of  them  said  that  there 
was  no  castle  in  all  Shadow  Valley.  The  ten  still 
stood  in  front  of  them  with  their  bows :  and  Rod- 
riguez turned  away  then  indeed  in  despair,  and 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  camp,  and  Alderon  walked 
behind  him.  In  silence  they  reached  their  camp  by 
the  great  gate  that  led  nowhere,  and  there  Rodriguez 
sat  down  on  a  log  beside  the  dwindling  fire,  gazing 
at  the  grey  ashes  and  thinking  of  his  dead  hopes.  He 
had  not  the  heart  to  speak  to  Alderon,  and  the  silence 
was  unbroken  by  Morano  who,  for  all  his  loquacity, 
knew  when  his  words  were  not  welcome.  Don  Al- 
deron tried  to  break  that  melancholy  silence,  saying 
that  these  ten  bowmen  did  not  know  the  whole  world ; 
but  he  could  not  cheer  Rodriguez.  For,  sitting  there 
in  dejection  on  his  log,  thinking  of  all  the  assurance 
with  which  he  had  often  spoken  of  his  castle,  there 
was  one  more  thing  to  trouble  him  than  Don  Alderon 
knew.  And  this  was  that  when  the  bowmen  had 
appeared  he  had  hung  once  more  round  his  neck 
that  golden  badge  that  was  worked  for  him  by 
the  King  of  Shadow  Valley;  and  they  must  have 
seen  it,  and  they  had  paid  no  heed  to  it  whatever: 
its  magic  was  wholly  departed.  And  one  thing 
troubled  him  that  Rodriguez  did  not  know,  a  very 
potent  factor  in  human  sorrow :  he  had  left  in  the 
morning  so  eagerly  that  he  had  had  no  breakfast, 
and  this  he  entirely  forgot  and  knew  not  how 
much    of    his    dejection    came    from    this    cause, 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  295 

thinking  that  the  loss  of  his  castle  was  of  itself 
enough. 

So  with  downcast  head  he  sat  empty  and  hopeless, 
and  the  little  camp  was  silent. 

In  this  mournful  atmosphere  while  no  one  spoke, 
and  no  one  seemed  to  watch,  stood,  when  at  last 
Rodriguez  raised  his  head,  with  folded  arms  before 
the  gate  to  nowhere,  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley. 
His  face  was  surly,  as  though  the  face  of  a  ghost, 
called  from  important  work  among  asteroids  needing 
his  care,  by  the  trivial  legerdemain  of  some  foolish 
novice.  Rodriguez,  looking  into  those  angry  eyes, 
wholly  forgot  it  was  he  that  had  a  grievance.  The 
silence  continued.  And  then  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley  spoke. 

"When  have  I  broken  my  word?"  he  said. 

Rodriguez  did  not  know.  The  man  was  still  look- 
ing at  him,  still  standing  there  with  folded  arms 
before  the  great  gate,  confronting  him,  demanding 
some  kind  of  answer:  and  Rodriguez  had  nothing 
to  say. 

"I  came  because  you  promised  me  the  castle,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"I  did  not  bid  you  come  here,"  the  man  with  the 
folded  arms  answered. 

"I  went  where  you  bade  me,"  said  Rodriguez,  "and 
you  were  not  there." 

"In  four  weeks,  I  said,"  answered  the  King 
angrily. 

And  then  Alderon  spoke.  "Have  you  any  castle 
for  my  friend?"  he  said. 


296  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

"No,"  said  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley. 

"You  promised  him  one,"  said  Don  Alderon. 

The  King  of  Shadow  Valley  raised  with  his  left 
hand  a  horn  that  hung  below  his  elbow  by  a  green 
cord  round  his  body.  He  made  no  answer  to  Don 
Alderon,  but  put  the  horn  against  his  lips  and  blew. 
They  watched  him  all  three  in  silence,  till  the  silence 
was  broken  by  many  men  moving  swiftly  through 
covert,  and  the  green  bowmen  appeared. 

When  seven  or  eight  were  there  he  turned  and 
looked  at  them.  "When  have  I  broken  my  word?" 
he  said  to  his  men. 

And  they  all  answered  him,  "Never !" 

More  broke  into  sight  through  the  bushes. 

"Ask  them"  he  said.  And  Rodriguez  did  not 
speak. 

"Ask  them,"  he  said  again,  "when  I  have  broken 
my  word." 

Still  Rodriguez  and  Alderon  said  nothing.  And 
the  bowmen  answered  them.  "He  has  never  broken 
his  word,"  every  bowman  said. 

"You  promised  me  a  castle,"  said  Rodriguez, 
seeing  that  man's  fierce  eyes  upon  him  still. 

"Then  do  as  I  bid  you,"  answered  the  King  of 
Shadow  Valley;  and  he  turned  round  and  touched 
the  lock  of  the  gates  with  some  key  that  he  had. 
The  gates  moved  open  and  the  King  went  through. 

Don  Alderon  ran  forward  after  him,  and  caught 
up  with  him  as  he  strode  away,  and  spoke  to  him, 
and  the  King  answered.  Rodriguez  did  not  hear 
what  they  said,  and  never  afterwards  knew.    These 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  297 

words  he  heard  only,  from  the  King  of  Shadow  Val- 
ley as  he  and  Don  Alderon  parted :"....  and 
therefore,  sefior,  it  were  better  for  some  holy  man  to 
do  his  blessed  work  before  we  come."  And  the  King 
of  Shadow  Valley  passed  into  the  deeps  of  the  wood. 

As  the  great  gates  were  slowly  swinging  to,  Don 
Alderon  came  back  thoughtfully.  The  gates  clanged, 
clicked,  and  were  shut  again.  The  King  of  Shadow 
Valley  and  all  his  bowmen  were  gone. 

Don  Alderon  went  to  his  horse,  and  Rodriguez 
and  Morano  did  the  same,  drawn  by  the  act  of  the 
only  man  of  the  three  that  seemed  to  have  made  up 
his  mind.  Don  Alderon  led  his  horse  back  toward 
the  path,  and  Rodriguez  followed  with  his.  When 
they  came  to  the  path  they  mounted  in  silence ;  and 
presently  Morano  followed  them,  with  his  blankets 
rolled  up  in  front  of  him  on  his  horse  and  his  fry- 
ing-pan slung  behind  him. 

"Which  way?"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Home,"  said  Don  Alderon. 

"But  I  cannot  go  to  your  home,"  said  Rodriguez. 

"Come,"  said  Don  Alderon,  as  one  whose  plans 
were  made.  Rodriguez  without  a  home,  without 
plans,  without  hope,  went  with  Don  Alderon  as 
thistledown  goes  with  the  warm  wind.  They  rode 
through  the  forest  till  it  grew  all  so  dim  that  only  a 
faint  tinge  of  greenness  lay  on  the  dark  leaves :  above 
were  patches  of  bluish  sky  like  broken  pieces  of  steel. 
And  a  star  or  two  were  out  when  they  left  the  forest. 
And  cantering  on  they  came  to  Lowlight  when  the 
Milky  Way  appeared. 


298  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

And  there  were  Dona  Mirana  and  Serafina  in  the 
hall  to  greet  them  as  they  entered  the  door. 

"What  news?"  they  asked. 

But  Rodriguez  hung  back ;  he  had  no  news  to  give. 
It  was  Don  Alderon  that  went  forward,  speaking 
cheerily  to  Serafina,  and  afterwards  to  his  mother, 
with  whom  he  spoke  long  and  anxiously,  pointing 
toward  the  forest  sometimes,  almost,  as  Rodriguez 
thought,  in  fear. 

And  a  little  later,  when  the  ladies  had  retired, 
Don  Alderon  told  Rodriguez  over  the  wine,  with 
which  he  had  tried  to  cheer  his  forlorn  companion, 
that  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  marry  Serafina. 
And  when  Rodriguez  lamented  that  this  was  im- 
possible he  replied  that  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley 
wished  it.  And  when  Rodriguez  heard  this  his 
astonishment  equalled  his  happiness,  for  he  mar- 
velled that  Don  Alderon  should  not  only  believe  that 
strange  man's  unsupported  promise,  but  that  he 
should  even  obey  him  as  though  he  held  him  in  awe. 

And  on  the  next  day  Rodriguez  spoke  with  Doiia 
Mirana  as  they  walked  in  the  glory  of  the  garden. 
And  Dofia  Mirana  gave  him  her  consent  as  Don 
Alderon  had  done:  and  when  Rodriguez  spoke 
humbly  of  postponement  she  glanced  uneasily 
towards  Shadow  Valley,  as  though  she  too  feared 
the  strange  man  who  ruled  over  the  forest  which 
she  had  never  entered. 

And  so  it  was  that  Rodriguez  walked  with  his 
lady,  with  the  sweet  Serafina  in  that  garden  again. 
And  walking  there  they  forgot  the  need  of  house  or 


HOW  HE  TURNED  TO  GARDENING  299 

land,  forgot  Shadow  Valley  with  its  hopes  and  its 
doubts,  and  all  the  anxieties  of  the  thoughts  that  we 
take  for  the  morrow :  and  when  evening  came  and 
the  birds  sang  in  azaleas,  and  the  shadows  grew 
solemn  and  long,  and  winds  blew  cool  from  the  blaz- 
ing bed  of  the  Sun,  into  the  garden  now  all  strange 
and  still,  they  forgot  our  Earth  and,  beyond  the  mun- 
dane coasts,  drifted  on  dreams  of  their  own  into 
aureate  regions  of  twilight,  to  wander  in  lands 
wherein  lovers  walk  briefly  and  only  once. 


THE    TWELFTH    CHRONICLE 


301 


THE  TWELFTH  CHRONICLE 

THE  BUILDING  OF  CASTLE   RODRIGUEZ  AND  THE 
ENTDING  OF  THESE   CHRONICLES 

WHEN  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  met  Rodri- 
guez, for  the  first  time  in  the  forest,  and 
gave  him  his  promise  and  left  him  by  his  camp-fire, 
he  went  back  some  way  towards  the  bowmen's  cot- 
tage and  blew  his  horn;  and  his  hundred  bowmen 
were  about  him  almost  at  once.  To  these  he  gave 
their  orders  and  they  went  back,  whence  they  had 
come,  into  the  forest's  darkness.  But  he  went  to 
the  bowmen's  cottage  and  paced  before  it,  a  dark 
and  lonely  figure  of  the  night;  and  wherever  he 
paced  the  ground  he  marked  it  with  small  sticks. 
And  next  morning  the  hundred  bowmen  came  with 
axes  as  soon  as  the  earliest  light  had  entered  the 
forest,  and  each  of  them  chose  out  one  of  the  giant 
trees  that  stood  before  the  cottage,  and  attacked  it. 
All  day  they  swung  their  axes  against  the  forest's 
elders,  of  which  nearly  a  hundred  were  fallen  when 
evening  came.  And  the  stoutest  of  these,  great 
trunks  that  were  four  feet  through,  were  dragged 

303 


304  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

by  horses  to  the  bowmen's  cottage  and  laid  by  the 
little  sticks  that  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  had  put 
overnight  in  the  ground.  The  bowmen's  cottage  and 
the  kitchen  that  was  in  the  wood  behind  it,  and  a 
few  trees  that  still  stood,  were  now  all  enclosed  by 
four  lines  of  fallen  trees  which  made  a  large 
rectangle  on  the  ground  with  a  small  square  at  each 
of  its  corners.  And  craftsmen  came,  and  smoothed 
and  hollowed  the  inner  sides  of  the  four  rows  of 
trees,  working  far  into  the  night.  So  was  the  first 
day's  work  accomplished  and  so  was  built  the  first 
layer  of  the  walls  of  Castle  Rodriguez. 

On  the  next  day  the  bowmen  again  felled  a  hun- 
dred trees ;  the  top  of  the  first  layer  was  cut  flat  by 
carpenters;  at  evening  the  second  layer  was  hoisted 
up  after  their  under  sides  had  been  flattened  to  fit 
the  layer  below  them;  quantities  more  were  cast  in 
to  make  the  floor  when  they  had  been  gradually 
smoothed  and  fitted :  at  the  end  of  the  second  day 
a  man  could  not  see  over  the  walls  of  Castle  Rodri- 
guez. And  on  the  third  day  more  craftsmen  arrived, 
men  from  distant  villages  at  the  forest's  edge, 
whence  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  had  summoned 
them ;  and  they  carved  the  walls  as  they  grew.  And 
a  hundred  trees  fell  that  day,  and  the  castle  was 
another  layer  higher.  And  all  the  while  a  park  was 
growing  in  the  forest,  as  they  felled  the  great  trees ; 
but  the  greatest  trees  of  all  the  bowmen  spared,  oaks 
that  had  stood  there  for  ages  and  ages  of  men ;  they 
left  them  to  grip  the  earth  for  a  while  longer,  for  a 
few  more  human  generations. 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  305 

On  the  fourth  day  the  two  windows  at  the  back  of 
the  bowmen's  cottage  began  to  darken,  and  that 
evening  Castle  Rodriguez  was  fifteen  feet  high. 
And  still  the  hundred  bowmen  hewed  at  the  forest, 
bringing  sunlight  bright  on  to  grass  that  was 
shadowed  by  oaks  for  ages.  And  at  the  end  of  the 
fifth  day  they  began  to  roof  the  lower  rooms  and 
make  their  second  floor :  and  still  the  castle  grew  a 
layer  a  day,  though  the  second  storey  they  built 
with  thinner  trees  that  were  only  three  feet  through, 
which  were  more  easily  carried  to  their  place  by  the 
pulleys.  And  now  they  began  to  heap  up  rocks  in  a 
mass  of  mortar  against  the  wall  on  the  outside,  till 
a  steep  slope  guarded  the  whole  of  the  lower  part 
of  the  castle  against  fire  from  any  attacker  if  war 
should  come  that  way,  in  any  of  the  centuries  that 
were  yet  to  be :  and  the  deep  windows  they  guarded 
with  bars  of  iron. 

The  shape  of  the  castle  showed  itself  clearly  now, 
rising  on  each  side  of  the  bowmen's  cottage  and 
behind  it,  with  a  tower  at  each  of  its  corners.  To 
the  left  of  the  old  cottage  the  main  doorway  opened 
to  the  great  hall,  in  which  a  pile  of  a  few  huge  oaks 
was  being  transformed  into  a  massive  stair.  Three 
figures  of  strange  men  held  up  this  ceiling  with  their 
heads  and  uplifted  hands,  when  the  castle  was  fin- 
ished; but  as  yet  the  carvers  had  only  begun  their 
work,  so  that  only  here  and  there  an  eye  peeped  out, 
or  a  smile  flickered,  to  give  any  expression  to  the 
curious  faces  of  these  fabulous  creatures  of  the 
wood,  which  were  slowly  taking  their  shape  out  of 


3o6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

three  trees  whose  roots  were  still  in  the  earth  below 
the  floor.  In  an  upper  storey  one  of  these  trees 
became  a  tall  cupboard;  and  the  shelves  and  the 
sides  and  the  back  and  the  top  of  it  were  all  one 
piece  of  oak. 

All  the  interior  of  the  castle  was  of  wood,  hol- 
lowed into  alcoves  and  polished,  or  carved  into 
figures  leaning  out  from  the  walls.  So  vast  were  the 
timbers  that  the  walls,  at  a  glance,  seemed  almost 
one  piece  of  wood.  And  the  centuries  that  were 
coming  to  Spain  darkened  the  walls  as  they  came, 
through  autumnal  shades  until  they  were  all  black, 
as  though  they  all  mourned  in  secret  for  lost  genera- 
tions; but  they  have  not  yet  crumbled. 

The  fireplaces  they  made  with  great  square  red 
tiles,  which  they  also  put  in  the  chimneys  amongst 
rude  masses  of  mortar :  and  these  great  dark  holes 
remained  always  mysterious  to  those  that  looked  for 
mystery  in  the  family  that  whiled  away  the  ages  in 
that  castle.  And  by  every  fireplace  two  queer  carved 
creatures  stood  upholding  the  mantlepiece,  with 
mystery  in  their  faces  and  curious  limbs,  uniting  the 
hearth  with  fable  and  with  tales  told  in  the  wood. 
Years  after  the  men  that  carved  them  were  all  dust 
the  shadows  of  these  creatures  would  come  out  and 
dance  in  the  room,  on  wintry  nights  when  all  the 
lamps  were  gone  and  flames  stole  out  and  flickered 
above  the  smouldering  logs. 

In  the  second  storey  one  great  saloon  ran  all  the 
length  of  the  castle.  In  it  was  a  long  table  with 
eight  legs  that  had  carvings  of  roses  rambling  along 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  307 

its  edges :  the  table  and  its  legs  were  all  of  one  piece 
with  the  floor.  They  would  never  have  hollowed  the 
great  trunk  in  time  had  they  not  used  fire.  The 
second  storey  was  barely  complete  on  the  day  that 
Rodriguez  and  Don  Alderon  and  Morano  came  to 
the  chains  that  guarded  the  park.  And  the  King  of 
Shadow  Valley  would  not  permit  his  gift  to  be  seen 
in  anything  less  than  its  full  magnificence,  and  had 
commanded  that  no  man  in  the  world  might  enter 
to  see  the  work  of  his  bowmen  and  craftsmen  until 
it  should  frown  at  all  comers  a  castle  formidable  as 
any  in  Spain. 

And  then  they  heaped  up  the  mortar  and  rock  to 
the  top  of  the  second  storey,  but  above  that  they  let 
the  timbers  show,  except  where  they  filled  in  plaster 
between  the  curving  trunks:  and  the  ages  blackened 
the  timber  in  amongst  the  white  plaster;  but  not  a 
storm  that  blew  in  all  the  years  that  came,  nor  the 
moss  of  so  many  Springs,  ever  rotted  away  those 
beams  that  the  forest  had  given  and  on  which  the 
bowmen  had  laboured  so  long  ago.  But  the  castle 
weathered  the  ages  and  reached  our  days,  worn, 
battered  even,  by  its  journey  through  the  long  and 
sometimes  troubled  years,  but  splendid  with  the 
traffic  that  it  had  with  history  in  many  gorgeous 
periods.  Here  Valdar  the  Excellent  came  once  in  his 
youth.  And  Charles  the  Magnificent  stayed  a  night 
in  this  castle  when  on  a  pilgrimage  to  a  holy  place 
of  the  South. 

It  was  here  that  Peter  the  Arrogant  in  his  cups 
gave  Africa,  one  Spring  night,  to  his  sister's  son. 


3o8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

What  grandeurs  this  castle  has  seen !  What  chroni- 
cles could  be  writ  of  it !  But  not  these  chronicles,  for 
they  draw  near  their  close,  and  they  have  yet  to  tell 
how  the  castle  was  built.  Others  shall  tell  what 
banners  flew  from  all  four  of  its  towers,  adding  a 
splendour  to  the  wind,  and  for  what  cause  they  flew. 
I  have  yet  to  tell  of  their  building. 

The  second  storey  was  roofed,  and  Castle  Rodri- 
guez still  rose  one  layer  day  by  day,  with  a  hauling 
at  pulleys  and  the  work  of  a  hundred  men :  and  all 
the  while  the  park  swept  farther  into  the  forest. 

And  the  trees  that  grew  up  through  the  building 
were  worked  by  the  craftsmen  in  every  chamber  into 
which  they  grew :  and  a  great  branch  of  the  hugest 
of  them  made  a  little  crooked  stair  in  an  upper 
storey.  On  the  floors  they  laid  down  skins  of  beasts 
that  the  bowmen  slew  in  the  forest ;  and  on  the  walls 
there  hung  all  manner  of  leather,  tooled  and  dyed  as 
they  had  the  art  to  do  in  that  far-away  period  in 
Spain. 

When  the  third  storey  was  finished  they  roofed 
the  castle  over,  laying  upon  the  huge  rafters  red  tiles 
that  they  made  of  clay.  But  the  towers  were  not  yet 
finished. 

At  this  time  the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  sent  a 
runner  into  Lowlight  to  shoot  a  blunt  arrow  with  a 
message  tied  to  it  into  Don  Alderon's  garden,  near 
to  the  door,  at  evening. 

And  they  went  on  building  the  towers  above  the 
height  of  the  roof.  And  near  the  top  of  them  they 
made  homes  for  archers,  little  turrets  that  leaned 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  309 

like  swallows'  nests  out  from  each  tower,  high  places 
where  they  could  see  and  shoot  and  not  be  seen  from 
below.  And  little  narrow  passages  wound  away 
behind  perched  battlements  of  stone,  by  which 
archers  could  slip  from  place  to  place,  and  shoot  from 
here  or  from  there  and  never  be  known.  So  were 
built  in  that  distant  age  the  towers  of  Castle 
Rodriguez. 

And  one  day  four  weeks  from  the  felling  of  the 
first  oak,  the  period  of  his  promise  being  accom- 
plished, the  King  of  Shadow  Valley  blew  his  horn. 
And  standing  by  what  had  been  the  bowmen's  cot- 
tage, now  all  shut  in  by  sheer  walls  of  Castle  Rodri- 
guez, he  gathered  his  bowmen  to  him.  And  when 
they  were  all  about  him  he  gave  them  their  orders. 
They  were  to  go  by  stealth  to  the  village  of  Low- 
light,  and  were  to  be  by  daylight  before  the  house  of 
Don  Alderon ;  and,  whether  wed  or  unwed,  whether 
she  fled  or  folk  defended  the  house,  to  bring  Doiia 
Serafina  of  the  Valley  of  Dawnlight  to  be  the  chate- 
laine of  Castle  Rodriguez. 

For  this  purpose  he  bade  them  take  with  them  a 
chariot  that  he  thought  magnificent,  though  the 
mighty  timbers  that  gave  grandeur  to  Castle  Rodri- 
guez had  a  cumbrous  look  in  the  heavy  vehicle  that 
was  to  the  bowmen's  eyes  the  triumphal  car  of  the 
forest.  So  they  took  their  bows  and  obeyed,  leaving 
the  craftsmen  at  their  work  in  the  castle,  which  was 
now  quite  roofed  over,  towers  and  all.  They  went 
through  the  forest  by  little  paths  that  they  knew, 
going  swiftly  and  warily  in  the  bowmen's  way:  and 


310  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

just  before  nightfall  they  were  at  the  forest's  edge, 
though  they  went  no  farther  from  it  than  its 
shadows  go  in  the  evening.  And  there  they  rested 
under  the  oak  trees  for  the  early  part  of  the  night 
except  those  whose  art  it  was  to  gather  news  for 
their  king;  and  three  of  those  went  into  Lowlight 
and  mixed  with  the  villagers  there. 

When  white  mists  moved  over  the  fields  near  dawn 
and  wavered  ghostly  about  Lowlight,  the  green  bow- 
man moved  with  them.  And  just  out  of  hearing 
of  the  village,  behind  wild  shrubs  that  hid  them,  the 
bowmen  that  were  coming  from  the  forest  met  the 
three  that  had  spent  the  night  in  taverns  of  Lowlight. 
And  the  three  told  the  hundred  of  the  great  wedding 
that  there  was  to  be  in  the  Church  of  the  Renuncia- 
tion that  morning  in  Lowlight :  and  of  the  prepara- 
tions that  were  made,  and  how  holy  men  had  come 
from  far  on  mules,  and  had  slept  the  night  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  the  Bishop  of  Toledo  himself  would  bless 
the  bridegroom's  sword.  The  bowmen  therefore  re- 
tired a  little  way  and,  moving  through  the  mists, 
came  forward  to  points  whence  they  could  watch  the 
church,  well  concealed  on  the  wild  plain,  which  here 
and  there  gave  up  a  field  to  man  but  was  mostly  the 
playground  of  wild  creatures  whose  ways  were  the 
bowmen's  ways.    And  here  they  waited. 

This  was  the  wedding  of  Rodriguez  and  Serafina, 
of  which  gossips  often  spoke  at  their  doors  in  sum- 
mer evenings,  old  women  mumbling  of  fair  wed- 
dings that  each  had  seen ;  and  they  had  been  children 
when  they  saw  this  wedding;  they  were  those  that 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  311 

threw  small  handfuls  of  anemones  on  the  path  be- 
fore the  porch.  They  told  the  tale  of  it  till  they 
could  tell  no  more.  It  is  the  account  of  the  last  two 
or  three  of  them,  old,  old  women,  that  came  at  last 
to  these  chronicles,  so  that  their  tongues  may  wag 
as  it  were  a  little  longer  through  these  pages  although 
they  have  been  for  so  many  centuries  dead  And 
this  is  all  that  books  are  able  to  do. 

First  there  was  bell-ringing  and  many  voices,  and 
then  the  voices  hushed,  and  there  came  the  proces- 
sion of  eight  divines  of  Murcia,  whose  vestments 
were  strange  to  Lowlight.  Then  there  came  a  priest 
from  the  South,  near  the  border  of  Andalusia,  who 
overnight  had  sanctified  the  ring.  (It  was  he  who 
had  entertained  Rodriguez  when  he  first  escaped 
from  la  Garda,  and  Rodriguez  had  sent  for  him 
now.)  Each  note  of  the  bells  came  clear  through 
the  hush  as  they  entered  the  church.  And  then  with 
suitable  attendants  the  bishop  strode  by  and  they 
saw  quite  close  the  blessed  cope  of  Toledo.  And 
the  bridegroom  followed  him  in,  wearing  his  sword, 
and  Don  Alderon  went  with  him.  And  then  the 
voices  rose  again  in  the  street:  the  bells  rang  on: 
they  all  saw  Dona  Mirana.  The  little  bunches  of 
bright  anemones  grew  sticky  in  their  hands :  the 
bells  seemed  louder :  cheering  rose  in  the  street  and 
came  all  down  it  nearer.  Then  Dofia  Serafina 
walked  past  them  with  all  her  maids:  and  that  is 
what  the  gossips  chiefly  remembered,  telling  how 
she  smiled  at  them,  and  praising  her  dress,  through 
those  distant  summer  evenings.     Then  there  was 


312  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

music  in  the  church.  And  afterwards  the  forest- 
people  had  come.  And  the  people  screamed,  for 
none  knew  what  they  would  do.  But  they  bowed  so 
low  to  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  showed  their 
great  hunting  bows  so  willingly  to  all  who  wished 
to  see,  that  the  people  lost  their  alarm  and  only 
feared  lest  the  Bishop  of  Toledo  should  blast  the 
merry  bowmen  with  one  of  his  curses. 

And  presently  the  bride  and  bridegroom  entered 
the  chariot,  and  the  people  cheered;  and  there  were 
farewells  and  the  casting  of  flowers;  and  the  bishop 
blessed  three  of  their  bows ;  and  a  fat  man  sat  beside 
the  driver  with  folded  arms,  wearing  bright  on  his 
face  a  look  of  foolish  contentment;  and  the  bow- 
men and  bride  and  bridegroom  all  went  away  to  the 
forest. 

Four  huge  white  horses  drew  that  bridal  chariot, 
the  bowmen  ran  beside  it,  and  soon  it  was  lost  to 
sight  of  the  girls  that  watched  it  from  Lowlight; 
but  their  memories  held  it  close  till  their  eyes  could 
no  longer  see  to  knit  and  they  could  only  sit  by  their 
porches  in  fine  weather  and  talk  of  the  days  that 
were. 

So  'came  Rodriguez  and  his  bride  to  the  forest; 
he  silent,  perplexed,  wondering  always  to  what  home 
and  what  future  he  brought  her;  she  knowing  less 
than  he  and  trusting  more.  And  on  the  untended 
road  that  the  bowmen  shared  with  stags  and  with 
rare,  very  venturous  travellers,  the  wheels  of  the 
woodland  chariot  sank  so  deep  in  the  sandy  earth  that 
the  escort  of  bowmen  needed  seldom  to  run  any 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  313 

more;  and  he  who  sat  by  the  driver  dimbed  down  and 
walked  silent  for  once,  perhaps  awed  by  the  occa- 
sion, though  he  was  none  other  than  Morano.  Sera- 
fina  was  delighted  with  the  forest,  but  between 
Rodriguez  and  its  beautiful  grandeur  his  anxieties 
crowded  thickly.  He  leaned  over  once  from  the 
chariot  and  asked  one  of  the  bowmen  again  about 
that  castle;  but  the  bowman  only  bowed  and  an- 
swered with  a  proverb  of  Spain,  not  easily  carried 
so  far  from  its  own  soil  to  thrive  in  our  language, 
but  signifying  that  the  morrow  showeth  all  things. 
He  was  silent  then,  for  he  knew  that  there  was  no 
way  to  a  direct  answer  through  those  proverbs,  and 
after  a  while  perhaps  there  came  to  him  some  of 
Serafina's  trustfulness.  By  evening  they  came  to  a 
wide  avenue  leading  to  great  gates. 

Rodriguez  did  not  know  the  avenue,  he  knew  no 
paths  so  wide  in  Shadow  Valley ;  but  he  knew  those 
gates.  They  were  the  gates  of  iron  that  led  nowhere. 
But  now  an  avenue  went  from  them  upon  the  other 
side,  and  opened  widely  into  a  park  dotted  with 
clumps  of  trees.  And  the  two  great  iron  shields, 
they  too  had  changed  with  the  changes  that  had 
bewitched  the  forest,  for  their  surfaces  that  had 
glowed  so  unmistakably  blank,  side  by  side  in  the 
firelight,  not  many  nights  before,  blazoned  now  the 
armorial  bearings  of  Rodriguez  upon  the  one  and 
those  of  the  house  of  Dawnlight  upon  the  other. 
Through  the  opened  gates  they  entered  the  young 
park  that  seemed  to  wonder  at  its  own  ancient  trees, 
where    wild    deer    drifted    away    from    them    like 


314  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

shadows  through  the  evening :  for  the  bowmen  had 
driven  in  deer  for  miles  through  the  forest.  They 
passed  a  pool  where  water-lilies  lay  in  languid  beauty 
for  hundreds  of  summers,  but  as  yet  no  flower  peeped 
into  the  water,  for  the  pond  was  all  hallowed  newly. 

A  clump  of  trees  stood  right  ahead  of  their  way; 
they  passed  round  it ;  and  Castle  Rodriguez  came  all 
at  once  into  view.  Serafina  gasped  joyously.  Rodri- 
guez saw  its  towers,  its  turrets  for  archers,  its 
guarded  windows  deep  in  the  mass  of  stone,  its 
solemn  row  of  battlements,  but  he  did  not  believe 
what  he  saw.  He  did  not  believe  that  here  at  last 
was  his  castle,  that  here  was  his  dream  fulfilled  and 
his  journey  done.  He  expected  to  wake  suddenly 
in  the  cold  in  some  lonely  camp,  he  expected  the 
Ebro  to  unfold  its  coils  in  the  North  and  to  come 
and  sweep  it  away.  It  was  but  another  strayed  hope, 
he  thought,  taking  the  form  of  dream.  But  Castle 
Rodriguez  still  stood  frowning  there,  and  none  of 
its  towers  vanished,  or  changed  as  things  change  in 
dreams;  but  the  servants  of  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley  opened  the  great  door,  and  Serafina  and  Rod- 
riguez entered,  and  all  the  hundred  bowmen  disap- 
peared. 

Here  we  will  leave  them,  and  let  these  Chroniclei 
end.  For  whoever  would  tell  more  of  Castle  Rodri^ 
guez  must  wield  one  of  those  ponderous  pens  that 
hangs  on  the  study  wall  in  the  house  of  historians. 
Great  days  in  the  story  of  Spain  shone  on  those  iron- 
barred  windows,  and  things  were  said  in  its  banquet- 
ing chamber  and  planned  in  its  inner  rooms  that 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  315 

sometimes  turned  that  story  this  way  or  that,  as 
rocks  turn  a  young  river.  And  as  a  traveller  meets 
a  mighty  river  at  one  of  its  bends,  and  passes  on  his 
path,  while  the  river  sweeps  on  to  its  estuary  and  the 
sea,  so  I  leave  the  triumphs  and  troubles  of  that  story 
which  I  touched  for  one  moment  by  the  door  of 
Castle  Rodriguez. 

My  concern  is  but  with  Rodriguez  and  Serafina 
and  to  tell  that  they  lived  here  in  happiness ;  and  to 
tell  that  the  humble  Morano  found  his  happiness 
too.  For  he  became  the  magnificent  steward  of 
Castle  Rodriguez,  the  major-domo,  and  upon  august 
occasions  he  wore  as  much  red  plush  as  he  had  ever 
seen  in  his  dreams,  when  he  saw  this  very  event, 
sleeping  by  dying  camp-fires.  And  he  slept  not  upon 
straw  but  upon  good  heaps  of  wolf-skins.  But  pin- 
ing a  little  in  the  second  year  of  his  somewhat  lonely 
splendour,  he  married  one  of  the  maidens  of  the 
forest,  the  child  of  a  bowman  that  hunted  boars  with 
their  king.  And  all  the  green  bowmen  came  and 
built  him  a  house  by  the  gates  of  the  park,  whence 
he  walked  solemnly  on  proper  occasions  to  wait  upon 
his  master.  Morano,  good,  faithful  man,  come  for- 
ward for  but  a  moment  out  of  the  Golden  Age  and 
bow  across  all  those  centuries  to  the  reader :  say  one 
farewell  to  him  in  your  Spanish  tongue,  though  the 
sound  of  it  be  no  louder  than  the  sound  of  shadows 
moving,  and  so  back  to  the  dim  splendour  of  the 
past,  for  the  Sefior  or  Senora  shall  hear  your  name 
no  more. 

For  years  Rodriguez  lived  a  chieftain  of  the  forest, 


3i6  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

owning  the  overlordship  of  the  King  of  Shadow 
Valley,  whom  he  and  Serafina  would  entertain  with 
all  the  magnificence  of  which  their  castle  was  capa- 
ble on  such  occasions  as  he  appeared  before  the  iron 
gates.  They  seldom  saw  him.  Sometimes  they 
heard  his  horn  as  he  went  by.  They  heard  his  bow- 
men follow.  And  all  would  pass  and  perhaps  they 
would  see  none.  But  upon  occasions  he  came.  He 
came  to  the  christening  of  the  eldest  son  of  Rodri- 
guez and  Serafina,  for  whom  he  was  godfather.  He 
came  again  to  see  the  boy  shoot  for  the  first  time 
with  a  bow.  And  later  he  came  to  give  little  pres- 
ents, small  treasures  of  the  forest,  to  Rodriguez' 
daughters ;  who  treated  him  always,  not  as  sole  lord 
of  that  forest  that  travellers  dreaded,  but  as  a  friend 
of  their  very  own  that  they  had  found  for  them- 
selves. He  had  his  favourites  among  them  and  none 
quite  knew  which  they  were. 

And  one  day  he  came  in  his  old  age  to  give  Rodri- 
guez a  message.  And  he  spoke  long  and  tenderly 
of  the  forest  as  though  all  its  glades  were  sacred. 

And  soon  after  that  day  he  died,  and  was  buried 
with  the  mourning  of  all  his  men  in  the  deeps  of 
Shadow  Valley,  where  only  Rodriguez  and  the  bow- 
men knew.  And  Rodriguez  became,  as  the  old  king 
had  commanded,  the  ruler  of  Shadow  Valley  and  all 
its  faithful  men.  With  them  he  hunted  and  de- 
fended the  forest,  holding  all  its  ways  to  be  sacred, 
as  the  old  king  had  taught.  It  is  told  how  Rodri- 
guez ruled  the  forest  well. 

And  later  he  made  a  treaty  with  the  Spanish  King 


BUILDING  OF  CASTLE  RODRIGUEZ  317 

acknowledging  him  sole  Lord  of  Spain,  including 
Shadow  Valley,  saving  that  certain  right  should 
pertain  to  the  foresters  and  should  be  theirs  for  ever. 
And  these  rights  are  written  on  parchment  and 
sealed  with  the  seal  of  Spain;  and  none  may  harm 
the  forest  without  the  bowmen's  leave. 

Rodriguez  was  made  Duke  of  Shadow  Valley  and 
a  Magnifico  of  the  first  degree;  though  little  he  went 
with  other  hidalgos  to  Court,  but  lived  with  his 
family  in  Shadow  Valley,  travelling  seldom  beyond 
the  splendour  of  the  forest  farther  than  Lowlight. 

Thus  he  saw  the  glory  of  autumn  turning  the 
woods  to  fairyland :  and  when  the  stags  were  roaring 
and  winter  coming  on  he  would  take  a  boar-spear 
down  from  the  wall  and  go  hunting  through  the 
forest,  whose  twigs  were  black  and  slender  and  still 
against  the  bright  menace  of  winter.  Spring  found 
him  viewing  the  fields  that  his  men  had  sown,  along 
the  forest's  edge,  and  finding  in  the  chaunt  of  the 
myriad  birds  a  stirring  of  memories,  a  beckoning 
towards  past  days.  In  summer  he  would  see  his 
boys  and  girls  at  play,  running  through  shafts  of 
sunlight  that  made  leaves  and  grass  like  pale 
emeralds.  He  gave  his  days  to  the  forest  and  the 
four  seasons.  Thus  he  dwelt  amidst  splendours 
such  as  History  has  never  seen  in  any  visit  of  hers 
to  the  courts  of  men. 

Of  him  and  Serafina  it  has  been  written  and  sung 
that  they  lived  happily  ever  after;  and  though  they 
are  now  so  many  centuries  dead,  may  they  have  in 
the  memories  of  such  of  my  readers  as  will  let  them 


3i8  DON  RODRIGUEZ 

linger  there,  that  afterglow  of  life  that  remembrance 
gives,  which  is  all  that  there  is  on  earth  for  those 
that  walked  it  once  and  that  walk  the  paths  of  their 
old  naunts  no  more. 


Ji  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


IF 


By 

Lord  Dunsany 

Try  to  imagine  in  your  own  life  what  might 
have  happened,  if  at  some  particular  moment  in 
it,  you  had  acted  differently.  This  is  the  story 
of  a  man  who  one  day,  years  ago,  missed  the 
8.15  to  town,  and  of  all,  in  consequence,  he 
missed  besides.  The  scene  of  the  play  is  mainly 
laid  in  the  east  and  concerns  the  powers  of  a 
magic  crystal  which  "  undid "  ten  years  of  a 
man's  life  and  substituted  ten  other  most  amaz- 
ing ones. 

"  Here  is  a  blend  of  the  strange  and  romantic 
with  the  commonplace  and  banal  fashioned  with 
masterly  skill  and  with  rich  humor.  The  reader 
will  peruse  with  delight  and  wait  with  impatience 
for  the  theatre  manager  to  stage  it." 

Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Three  Plays 

By 

A.  A.  Milne 


Mr.  Milne  is  one  of  the  few  English  play- 
wrights enjoying  the  distinction  of  having  their 
plays  successfully  produced  both  in  London  and 
New  York,  and  of  these  few  he  is  undoubtedly 
the  most  popular.  England  and  America  alike 
have  warmly  welcomed  the  plays  in  this  volume, 
The  Dover  Road,  The  Great  Broxopp,  and  The 
Truth  About  Blayds.  Of  the  latter  the  N.  Y. 
Evening  Post  says:  "  It  is  a  real  comedy.  The 
sparkling  but  unlabored  dialogue,  the  deft  and 
vital  sketches  of  character,  the  strokes  of  keen 
but  not  unkindly  satire,  the  essential  veracity  of 
the  picture  and  the  freshness  of  it  all  met  with 
instant  appreciation." 

Many  critics  rank  The  Dover  Road  and  The 
Great  Broxopp  even  higher  than  the  one  just 
mentioned. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


University  of  California 

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